


Children of Violence

by Iden_Shelby



Series: Fear the Walking Dead | T. Otto [2]
Category: Fear the Walking Dead (TV), The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Apocalypse, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Emotional Manipulation, Enemies to Friends, Explicit Language, F/M, Harassment, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Manipulation, Other, Past Abuse, Post-Apocalypse, Racism, Rape/Non-con Elements, Revenge, Slow Burn, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2020-10-24 17:08:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 21
Words: 49,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20709563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iden_Shelby/pseuds/Iden_Shelby
Summary: Cristine her heart thumped. She could hear blood passing through her ears - thump, thump, thump—and looking down saw her red coated chest moving up and down. She even tasted textured meat that was never meant to be chewed on by a human.She noticed how her dirty hands shook around her upper legs and inhaled. Her vision became blurry when she looked at the calm Troy.Suddenly, she was hot and sweaty, so hot and sweaty that she wanted to run. But as soon as she tried to stand it left her body unsteady. The trembling traveled down into her legs and hips, leaving her shaky. She felt weak, as if everything just drained out of her. Yet, her heart seemed to pound even faster, even harder. She tried taking a deep breath to calm herself, but her inhales were sharp and shallow. Her vision went darker and narrow again, like a kaleidoscope."Breathe," Troy calmly said. "You did good." He earnestly complimented.Fear the Walking Dead Pre-Season 3 | T. Otto





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys, I'm back with my second book: Children of Violence. Hope you guys liked the first chapter and will show me the same love as for the first book. For my new readers, I recommend reading my first Book: At the Edge of Misery first to understand where the story began and how it all came to be 😉

Troy studied the bound infected with quite some interest. It wasn't moving and barely responded to their presence. He experimentally prodded at its deteriorated body with his rifle and other than low, but clearly less vociferous growls. 

The smile that evolved on his lips was like that of a boy that finally received his favorite treat. Cristine had never seen him, or anyone for that matter, so enthused and interested in the dead. Most people stayed as far from them as possible or annihilated the infected without thinking twice.

His eyes flickered at Cristine who stood opposite of him, on the other side of the infected. She hadn't said much, but her sharp eyes were like an open book for him to read. After going out almost for a month on these inspections every other day, her eyes spoke volumes. She still hated this and she hated him.

Troy's smile turned deeper before he bound open his journal and quickly wrote down his verdict. "It's been almost two weeks since we left it here. So a lack of fresh meat makes them less alert and catatonic after time passes." He stopped writing and prodded at the grey colored skin that had clearly rotted, but not as much as it should've.

"It's weird how a virus that makes corpses rot, has a way of slowing down that same process. Their skin doesn't rot as fast as a regular corpse."

"Depending on when they turned. It could be years, if not decades for one of these to be gone. The brain will decompose as final organ if it's left like this." Cristine was rambling and froze when she realized that Troy was writing while she spoke.

"It's the mostly likely explanation, same with the decreased insatiable hunger and slowed down motor function."

"There's logic to it and that's what matters." Troy said and re-read his notes and compared them with hers before he looked at Cristine with a questioning gaze.

"I was actually planning on placing a pile of them as a perimeter in the area, it seems much safer than this."

Her reply was neutral and she pointed at the almost still corpse. "You can tie them up like this and use them all the same. I suggest cutting the jaw and arms just to be safe." 

"Say we need to use them for whatever reason, we can still use them to move around... or train the new recruits." Cristine muttered that part just for pragmatic use and saw the formed wrinkles on his forehead even out.

Of course he liked the sound of that.

Troy grinned as he realized how advantageous this new discovery was. "Practical and it'll ward people away." He had nothing but good things to say and unknowingly appraised her with his eyes.

Cristine inwardly scoffed, did he forget that he threatened her with her family? He was acting as if they were the best of friends trying to discover the science of the infected. It wasn't that she wouldn't tell him anything about them, but this was mostly done under force.

Troy glanced at his watch before storing his journal in the pockets of his vest. "We should head back to the Ranch."

"I've been thinking." As the engine of his truck revved, Troy pinched the wheel brake and gave the gas pedal a push. He gave the rest of his crew the order to fasten and decapitate the dead as a repellent. It was indeed easier and less straining on their gas reserves than burning them. He made sure to place the corpses on less fertile land too, afraid that it would contaminate the soil. With one hand clasped around the wheel and the other lazily tapping on the edge of his pulled down window, Troy shared his thoughts with Cristine.

"According to you, the whole world is plagued by a disease. It spreads like influenza, like the first news reports mentioned. Something about some new flu type." He had been thinking of the concept of this flu that had many similarities to it and the way it spread according to the woman's notes and footage.

"It seems a bit like the Spanish flu in 1918. It infected 600 million and over 50 million people died. Nothing modern day antibiotics can't solve this day and age."

"This resembles the Black Death in the 14th century more if you ask me." Cristine interrupted him.

"That reportedly killed at least one third of Europe's population." Troy mused and nodded.

Cristine shrugged. "There are many theories about it, but if enough people die it'll end, because there's too few left to spread it to."

Troy examined the scenery outside, they passed a lone walker on the road. "But this thing now, that makes dead people come back and attacks people is different." 

Optimistic Troy reiterated. "When it gets hot, flesh rots down to the bones and in theory wouldn't be able to move."

"How long would that take?" He asked.

The brunette began to think out loud while counting the amount of time on her fingers. "In the summer, in an open field it would take up to 20-30 days." Her brows furrowed together and broodingly touched her chin. "If it's winter time or colder, it'll be a few weeks or. But we're talking about moving corpses and that defies any medical or scientific knowledge."

"But we can at least assume that's how it is." Troy murmured with narrowed eyes and brushed his fingers through his front locks. "We might not like each other, but at least we agree on using them to our advantage."

Cristine frowned before she twisted her head to look out the window. Sometimes, Troy listened as if her words were golden, perhaps some elixir he's been waiting all his days to hear since this hell started. But usually, he got under her skin with those backhanded remarks that kept the woman on her toes. She knew he did it on purpose and the militia leader most likely knew she saw through his games.

It had been a month after that terrifying night.

From what he asked about the disease, Troy was thinking so deeply, already with a strategy in mind for the Ranch. Theories and tactics that were already several moves ahead of what the average person is capable of. Understanding the nature of the dead was fine, but not to the extent of killing innocent people for 'science' that was guess work at best without the right equipment and skillset.

He was unpleasant, having probably killed more than enough now for this 'research' of his. This obsession with needing to know why they all spoiled. The hushed conversation between him and his men that were trying to learn how long it took to turn, depending on, age, weight, race, height and gender. It was gross, because it was at the expense of innocent people that crossed their path.

Troy was so caught up with dismantling the, to him, valuable conversation, he didn't realize that his passenger completely lost interest in this back and forth talk.

Life had always fascinated Troy. He always wanted to understand it. Then, to his awe, life changed. The dead rose, and they seemed to have only one goal. To turn all life to an endless cycle.

He paused. Eyes finally searching for the woman's. She hadn't said a thing afterwards, and saw her looking outside. It was clear from her crossed arms, the averted and closed body language that she was done talking about this.

Odd.

Troy really thought James's eldest odd and contradicting. She had a job that was the closest to the infection, had ideas and ways to do her research, even if it was the bare minimum without the fancy tools, but she didn't utilize that same wisdom and skill. Sure, she went along with him, but after a month Troy expected her to show some more excitement or interest for this unnatural phenomena that, to him, could only be explained by science.

A science she knew better than most. A science she was able to share with others, because she was alive. He'd read her journals several times and the person who wrote all those things wasn't the same person in the passenger's seat. It wasn't the person driven by motivation with the eagerness uncover the truth. The person next to him was just... alive and nothing more.

He'd done everything in his power to rekindle the woman's motivation for these trips. Sometimes, he saw that spark in her eyes, but it always died down. Troy figured that if he compromised on the experimenting, limit the questions after his nights with the guys, and just focus on the physiology of the dead and the virus, she'd see the worth of all this.

The remainder of the trip back to the Ranch left a peculiar atmosphere around the two people inside the truck. One's mind satiated with knowledge on the dead while the other's mood ricocheted low and lower over this blackmail.

After, driving through the gates, Troy hit the brakes in the driver's seat, and turned the engine off with a flick of the wrist.

At this point, Cristine wasn't at all interested to exchange words with him anymore and wanted to jump out of the vehicle when the door was halfway open.

"Today was a good day."

Cristine felt her right eyelid twitch and rotated her jaw when her feet hit the ground. She schooled her features and turned her body around to look at Troy. The look on his face was mellow and even cheerful if she had to give that light expression of his a label.

"We found out a lot of good stuff we can use to protect the Ranch and redirect the dead. Even for when a potential horde pops up." Troy lightly chewed on his lower lip with his canine and briefly avoided her steady and unblinking gaze, "stuff like this will keep our families safe. The protocols and policies inside are also set in stone now."

"..."

He didn't stop talking despite her indifference, "people are worried and afraid and the new rules instills a sense of security. You helped set some them up and, uh, that's good." Troy pried into her eyes for a long while, genuine about the woman's contribution to the cause. He just had to be sure she kept to their agreement so that it didn't take this much effort everytime he wanted a moment to talk and one step closer to the truth.

They'd already have enough on their plate with the living outside.

"Tell you what, next time you can tag along on this supply run. Most of us know you can take care of yourself." Cristine swore she heard some type compliment in his monologue and knitted her eyebrows together.

"No experiments, no talking about the dead, just a simple run to strengthen the walls and stuff. We could use the help."

"Troy." Despite the softness of her call, there was an edge to Cristine's voice. His proposal and the hidden compliments disconcerted her and he was either oblivious or purposely ignored the tense air. At this point, she had finally processed his words and seeing that she had his attention now opened her mouth.

"I'm flattered you want me to come with, but I'll sit this one out."

There was a shift on Troy's face, surprised by her quick response. He quickly looked straight ahead of him before he divided his focus between the woman and the other members in the distance from where he parked the truck. His expression shifted as well before he reeled his palm and fingers through his full head of hair and looked back at her.

He nodded. "Fair enough. Make sure you get some propper rest." Troy shrugged, his reaction neutral and Cristine didn't detect the same appraising tune in his voice as before.

After Cristine looked at the others, her gaze relaxed when she saw Hailey. She wore an apron, which meant she was on kitchen duty again.

"You're back." Hailey softly ushered Cristine into a tight hug. The deep sighs of relief raked through her equally slender body, and Cristine shut her eyes as she relished into the warmth of the firm embrace.

Out of everyone, only Hailey had an inkling why her sister left with the militia on these random trips. With the people's half-baked attitudes, her older sister couldn't help but share her knowledge to benefit the safety of Broke Jaw Ranch. To be sure of her own safety on the Ranch.

Hailey just wanted to remind Cristine that she wasn't, and wouldn't ever be, alone to face these hardships.

"It was a good day." Cristine answered and lightly pulled herself back. The puzzled, but more worried blue of her shimmering eyes held a wet layer.

"Good." Hailey shakily exhaled and forced a smile back. Her watery gaze inadvertently darted in her the direction of her sister's bane. She sucked in her lips when Troy lazily waved at her through that damn smile of his.

"You-!"

Cristine shook her head and palmed her shoulders and arms before grasping her hands. "Hailey, it's fine." Having predicted her sister's reaction, she tried to calm her with assuring words. If there was one thing she wasn't going to risk, it was her baby sister. Hailey picked up on things really fast if you gave her too much clues and Cristine didn't want her to worry.

Cristine tiredly rolled her neck and shoulders before she shuffled on her feet and replied with a small smile, "you go and finish your chores. I'll be there soon."

After finally calming her, Cristine made a straight beeline to her cabin, ignoring everyone who attempted any sort of conversation. Once inside the small hut, away from all the people the silence closed in again.

As her eyes adjusted to the outline of the tidy room, she saw the perfectly stacked journals on the table. It was worn, frayed and Cristine silently walked towards the things that were in possession of Troy. He didn't even have the decency to remove the yellow sticky notes from between the pages.

Cristine gently flipped the first one open, turned the few pages until she stopped and stroked the tips of her fingers over the penned name of her mentor at top: **#1: Emilio Valdez**.

With a short, but shallow breath did Cristine step back and retract her hand, as if she was burned. Her body stilled and the light rumble at the back of her throat turned into a shaky inhaled before she felt a chill scratch up her spine while her insides began to bubble and a simmering hotness burned behind her flickering lids.

_No, no, no, no._

With a small shake of the head and a rough breath did she cover her nose and ears from a noise that wasn't there in real life, but yet so vivid inside her mind.

A cluster of sparks plugged in Cristine's abdomen. Tension grew in her face and limbs, her mind replaying the face of her mentor. Her breathing became more rapid, more shallow. In these moments before her personal hurricane, she just wanted anything to stop the primal surge to flee.

But she couldn't. Cristine was not allowed to. She promised him, she wouldn't give up finding a cure for the virus. He believed in her, believed her smart and brave enough to save the world. It was probably the fever and hallucinations doing most of the talking, but Cristine promised something so stupid in his last moments.

"_I'll find a cure to this."_

She hit her legs with clenched fists. The memories started accelerating inside her head. She wanted them to slow so she could breathe but they wouldn't. Her breaths came in gasps and she felt like blacking out. Her heart's hammering inside her chest like it belonged to a rabbit running for its skin.

The inside of her cabin spun as she pathetically curled her body and was down on all fours on the ground, trying to make everything slow to something her brain and body could cope with.

"I'm sorry. I'msorryI'msorryI'msorry."


	2. - Cristine & Dolores -

  
"Cristine would you be a dear and help me peel and cut the potatoes?"

Cristine paused in her steps just as she placed the large pot filled with water on the stove. The voice was soft, had a southern lull to it and keeping her suspicious emotions from showing on her face, stared at her stepmother.

Like the rest, Dolores also wore an apron. Blonde locks were pulled back into a bun to keep her hair away from her face. She sat on a chair, a medium sized burlap filled with potatoes on the space next to her. A second chair was on the other side of the bag and currently empty.

Swallowing, Cristine grabbed a cutting knife before wordlessly strolling to the elder woman. Once she sat down, Cristine fished out a few potatoes and diligently began the process of peeling and cutting the vegetable.

It was quiet and only the sound of cutting and dumping the pieces of potatoes was heard. This was one of the few times she did chores with Dolores and it was pretty normal. This was the first time, however, her stepmother initiated any sort of contact with that were more than superficial words.

Still, neither of the two took the initiative to start something. A heavy silence settled, thicker than the skin of these hard potatos.

"How have you been settling in on the Ranch so far." It was a simple question.

But nothing was ever simple with Dolores and her stepdaughter couldn't help but chew at the corner of her lower lip.

"Fine. People are nicer now." Cristine rolled the blade between her palms, "nicer now that I'm useful."

"That's good to hear. I was worried you wouldn't feel very comfortable and leave, but thank God that's not the case."

There was a certain innuendo behind her words, but Cristine compared Dolores with Troy... and the latter won that competition in people to watch out for by a mile.

"I can't leave Hailey and daddy, that wouldn't be fair of me. Sure, it was difficult at the start. But most people don't mind me very much now."

"They never did. They were just cautious and had to get used to someone new. I think we were one of the first ones to arrive. They even had to get used to me and Hailey," Dolores smiled a small, yet forced smile that wasn't very convincing.

"Hailey told me... whose idea was it?" Cristine arched her brow at her unsettled blue gaze and clarified the question, "to start fresh and come to this place?"

Dolores paused, thinking briefly and said, "this was something your father wanted for a while. To have a life away from the city and live more aware and self-sustaining. The two of us discussed it for a while," a light shrug paired with a wrinkly smile, "it was a sign really. I remember the first reports of that nasty flu. It wasn't the epidemic itself, I mean we didn't know it would end like this, but I also saw it as a chance to start over. For your father to start over after all his hard work."

"So we visited the Ranch a few times, had some talks with big Otto and I think three weeks before it all started, we quit our jobs and packed our bags and just did it. "

Cristine was too focused on Dolores her story to notice she stopped cutting. The tiny muscles near her nose twitched from flaring up. It was as if she listened to strangers and not her family.

"And then more and more people arrived when the news reports got words." Dolores saw that her stepdaughter had stopped peeling, but continued undisturbed.

"I guess I should be grateful," Cristine mused and a sudden dimpled smile appeared on her face. Dark eyes roll the half-peeled vegetable in her right hand. "If I didn't go home on my vacation, I would never have known. Our neighbor, Mrs. Pratt told me you'd left packing and I found those old letters in daddy's work room."

She licked her lips before looking at Dolores and explained, "I don't know why, but something just told me to take them. I wasn't even planning on coming here. Y'all were gone and I volunteered to go with my mentor on this expedition. When it all started to go to shit and I was out, I did a flip of the coin and here I am."

"I was running around in circles, only to end up here with daddy, Hailey, and you." She couldn't help but emphasize the last word and for the first time since they spoke, Dolores showed her a very uncomfortable expression.

"We're all glad to have you here. You opened our eyes to what this really is. With your experience with those monster outside, you really did your part."

"It was nothing really," Cristine noted the faint clench of Dolores her jaw. If it was one thing her stepmother hated... it was her and anything she accomplished. Cristine never knew where this dislike for her came from. Ever since Hailey was born this woman she lived with had it out for her. It started with her not wanting Cristine to call her mommy anymore, then she got angry at every little thing she did and made a big deal out of it.

Then the slapping started, it didn't hurt at the start but it had surprised the younger Cristine. Under the excuse of discipline, Dolores actions were allowed by her father.

He was never home to experience the escalations.

Every facet of her budding personality denigrated and shunned. Cristine felt less than nothing, never as loved as Hailey. Every look that came her way was laced with contempt, annoyance that she should take up room and eat. And her father- he either noticed or ignored it or was just that stupid.

She believed the latter one for a while, until it was her father who told her to behave or he'd lose his wife again. And that's when Cristine, as a fragile little girl realized, that everyone was just in it for them. The people around her just pretended, lied and hurt others because of their selfishness.

So, she decided to be selfish too.

It wasn't until she left for college that those chains were unlocked from her. It was why she barely visited back home, why a call was enough, but also why she wanted to at least mend things with her blood: her father and Hailey.

Now here she was, older, supposedly wiser. She still had to learn how to react to the differential treatment between her and Hailey, her drunk father and this woman. But it improved with her little sister, step by step and that was reassuring.

"I heard you're helping the militia." Dolores decided to divert the subject to something else.

"Just scouting and how we can use the dead to our advantage." Cristine began peeling again.

"That's brave and takes a lot of courage," Dolores shifted unsettled and bend sideways to avoid catching glanced or spectators that passed by.

"I don't want to spook you Cristine and I'm not one to gossip but-" with an arched brow she looked at the stark blue eyes, "maybe it would be better to stay inside for a while? Some people don't feel this is a positive influence on the militia. They are mostly young men and can be quite competitive in their free time."

"What does that have to do with me?"

"Don't get me wrong," Dolores emptied her hand and reached for her shoulder. Cristine fought back to slap it aside, but was confused as to why it was such a problem.

"What you're doing is great... but some of these boys are troubled."

_"Tell me about it." _

"They're scaring people with talk of the dead and we just don't want that inside the walls. There are children and mothers who are worried this will be the only thing we can talk about."

"...so you want me to sit these runs out? Why isn't anyone talking to them?" She furrowed her brows and jerked her shoulders aside out of reflex, "why is it always my fault that things aren't going the way people feel it should. It's the fucking end of the world."

Dolores was taken back by her cuss and clenched her hands together, "you owe it to your father. He started drinking again."

Cristine scoffed and twirled the knife around her fingers. "I see. You just want me to stay to fix daddy because you can't. You're worried about what people will say about you and your dear husband, a respected Founder. Here I thought you cared for your dearest stepdaughter."

"I know we haven't always seen eye to eye. But we both love James and Hailey doesn't have to see him like this."

"He does this to himself. For whatever messed up reason and you want to blame me. It's not my responsibility to sober him up." After a quick rub of her neck, Cristine rolled her lips over her teeth and sniffed.

"It's not my fault he started drinking again," she whispered in a shaky breath. Cristine didn't know if she said this to convince herself or Dolores, but she just felt ill thinking about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Totally different chapter this time, but- I also have Dolores and she hasn't made much of an appearance in my story as of yet. But that will change in this book. So here's a bit background of the most shaky dynamic in the Gerrard family... share your thoughts ;)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double chapters up! Enjoy!

The rest of Cristine's day was ruined.

Everyone on this damn Ranch wanted something from her. What about what she wanted?! Peace and quiet for once. Not having to figure out if any and everything had an angle, always on guard for people's selfish motives.

It was mentally draining and that wasn't even talking about the issues with her father- and now Dolores?! She rather have the woman ignore her and treat her like a pariah.

Tugging rather aggressively at the loop of her rucksack on her shoulder, Cristine shoved the bag througg the oening of the fence. After a look around for any patrol, she crouched down on her legs and maneuvered her body between the barbed wires. She remembered where each wire would cut or sting and swiftly slipped through.

The sinking sun still bathed the grounds of the Ranch. Routinely, Cristine crawled over the blind spot that were a few rocks before she scaled down the uneven sandy pathway that eventually led her to the small forest.

The road was quiet as always.

There was barelt any sign of life across her, hence the perfect place to trek. Cistine still moved with purpose and she watched and waited whenever she thought that she heard something. Luckily, she hadn't seen anything worth investigating. No movements.

Cristine held the loops tightly as she followed the path she'd taken more than dozen times. It was a wonder, no one had caught her yet for sneaking out loke this. Then again, it was good they didn't watch out for her that long.

After a thirty minute stroll, Cristine finally saw it. A lone creature listlessly shifting on the exact same spot. No groans. No real sense of direction to its movement. Lost in a world without end gomals. Its arms were sliced clean together with the jaw and Cristine took a deep breath.

As she closed the distance between her and the docile creature, Cristine untied the rope fastened against the tree and keeping the infected in place like a dog on a leash.

She and this thing were going on a walk to run some tests.

Cristine already figured out that the infected could be used as camouflage amongst in the open, but she wanted to know if that was purely based on scent, behavior or both.

She'd seen a herd in action and it was the most horrifying and aggressive phenomena she ever saw in her life.

_"They're more aggressive than smaller groups, as if they're affecting each other like some sort of hive mind. That's classified as behavior." _

Also, this infected she used wasn't always fully docile. When she moved unexpectedly or made loud noises, sometimes it noticed her and, albeit weakly, reacted to her.

But now, stepping in line with it's movements and footsteps when she was quiet and focused, that didn't happen. Perhaps a reaction wasn't the same for all of these things...

_"Does it have to do with the state of their brains or how long they turned?" _In the meantime, Cristine began to make sense of her recent discovery and occasionally glanced at the mindless one. They walked in tune and as weird as it sounded let it guide her. Perhaps, it could help her find another one in this desolate area.

Cristine needed one or two more and restrain them without causing too much trauma. With a brief roll of her full lips to wet and chew on them, did she pick up her pace and delve deeper into the silent area.

-

  
"What is this?" The words echoed through Troy's mind as he stood looking at his father in his place of authority.

"I was running some tests, figured out some things about the dead and how we can use it to our advantage."

Jeremiah looked skeptical at his son at first, but the light gesture with his hand told him he could continue.

Troy rubbed his fingers on his pants. "If we cut of their jaws and limbs, we can use them as portable force-fields. Like with the burning, but at least that won't pollute the land."

"You figure that little trick out with your new lab partner?" Blinking, it took Troy a while to register the question. The unimpressed expression on his father's face was not what he expected.

"She knows things. If it wasn't for her help last week, we wouldn't know how to redirect those migrating wasted in becoming a fully grown horde." Troy explained.

"No one's disputing the girl's knowledge or skills and it's been helpful, but you're getting yourself swept away into mumbo-jumbo. Distracted and forgetting why I've put you in charge of the militia."

"Dad, we can use-"

Jeremiah's voice rose. "Those things need to put down and nothing more! Not talked about during meals or when people are trying to get some sense of normalcy back in their life."

Troy didn't understand his father's aversion. The past weeks he told him to keep up the good work each time he came back with something useful. All for the sake of their people. It was confusing and it probably showed on his face as Big Otto sighed at his son.

"I don't care what you do outside. I know you're doing what you think is right, but no more talk of it on the Ranch." His father's stern voice actually made him annoyed when he said the next words.

"I know you're curious and that girl caught your eye with her science talk, but you need to keep your distance." Troy chose to not respond to that remark, his eyes narrowing as he looked toward his father, unsure if that had been an innuendo about the trips outside or anything more.

"Got it, dad. I need to get on with my work." Troy spoke, moving to rise and turn away.

Stepping out into the cool evening air, Troy let out a sigh and made his way to his truck so he could head off to the fields to check on security and the fencing before going to dinner.

However, the thought of dinner tonight seemed to turn his stomach slightly, he wasn't exactly hungry and he just wanted to be busy.

Driving to the fields, he stopped the truck as he noticed something by a section of the fences, getting out of the car, his hand moving to check for his gun. He moved over ready to take out whatever it was over there. However he didn't need to, his body relaxed as he realized it was Cristine.

His respose only lasted a second when he saw the woman twist and turn between the barbed wire and with a deep frown bared his teeth

What the hell was she doing?!

-

From the pathway Cristine took, Troy pieced together, rather irritated, that this was not her first time going out solo like this. Someone didn't do their job right during patrol.

Troy could've caught her in the act and dragged her ass back, but that would defeat the purpose of finding out what she was doing outside, all by herself.

Troy vaguely recognized this pathway, but he never knew it could be accessed from this side of the Ranch. It was a good thing he saw Cristine leave when she did.

She detected a blind spot. One part of him was fuming, but the other also curious. Troy paused in his steps and hid behind a tree and squinted his eyes when Cristine stealthily approached the restrained cast.

Troy crouched down in the shrubbery and took note that it was an infected, leashed like a mutt by his owner. Only this mutt didn't react, looked like skeleton and was mangy.

_"So little miss unambitious was faking it all along... she is doing her own experiments." In_ spite of himself, Troy's eyes twinkled like two polished blue pearls.

This was one of the few times Troy really saw her immersed in what she did. Never showing him this side, other than her judgement when he tried to discuss his other nightly activities. But seeing her now, untying that infected and tugging it with her deeper into this area, Troy was convinced that Cristine coming out this far back alone and in the middle of nowhere meant that her need to understand rekindled.

Either because of _that_ night in the dessert or to find out what more could be used to their advantage. After a dry swallow, Troy took this opportunity to follow her and observe her.

She only had one backpack with her and simple clothing that matched the area as much as it could to stay inconspicuous. On either hipside he saw the holster of a gun and a machete. The manner in which she walked was uncertain and didn't have a distinct direction. She occasionally tugged at the rope, but otherwise followed the slow footing of the dead.

She seemed so focused in her search, with the way she kept stilling when she thought she mistook a small animal for something else. Troy didn't want to alarm her or her tracker, so he kept a certain distance that was neither too close or too far.

Troy paused and advanced when she did.

Just as she moved forward again, a stench invaded his nose before he saw or heard it.

Troy swiflty ducked to the side. The oily-rotten black meat odor is as strong as ever. It made his gag reflexes clench, but he downed back the thick saliva building in his throat.

He cursed his lack of unawareness and jerked back away from the corpse as it pounced on him in a frenzy. Troy tumbled sideways, ripping free in the nick of time, just as the contorted face - with hollow cavities for eyes - gobbled the dirt where his body had been one millisecond earlier.

Troy's hand reached for his weapon and raised the gun like a divining rod aimed at the monster. The bullet shattered the center of the skull and took off the top of wasted's head. Troy barely reacted at the kick of blood mist, as the body collapses in a heap.

Troy released an irritable sigh and tensed when he heard the click behind him.

"Drop it."

Cristine stood, fidgeting corpse at her side, finger of the trigger, barrel aimed down at Troy's back.

"It's me." Troy sighed once more with a slow wave and looked over his shoulder. Brows arched when meeting those dark, narrowed eyes.

"..." Cristine didn't lower the gun immediately, she stood tense and contemplating. Chasms of deep flecks of black with streaks of light noted out that Troy came only with a gun and a knife. The longer she stared at him, the harsher the gleam in her eyes got.

She could kill him. Right here and now.

"No one would ever know," Troy blurted out and Cristine thought he meant her sneaking out, but her frown deepened when he didn't. He must've seen the violent spark in her eyes and continued his solo-rant.

"You could pull that trigger and leave my body here. This place isn't known by many and even if they did find me, it'd be an accident at most. Troy Otto; dead because he wanted to play scientist and research the dead."

The emotion in his eyes, when she stared back, was like a swarming shade of blue that blend together to form a frozen lake. She could tell by his body language that he wasn't concerned by his fate, he even seemed to welcome it.

It would be easy to end his life here...

Troy had done enough things to warrant that and despite her rational side to ignore his taunt, Cristine's grip tightened on the trigger and flickering azure orbs brightened.

"Just make sure to time it."

The bundled nerves coiled inside her stomach and Cristine sucked in a sharp breath that sounded like gasp. She lowered her gun abruptly, as if she just caught herself and frowned.

_"What the hell?"_

Troy tilted his head before pursing his lips from showing slight disappointment.

"What are you doing out here?" He asked, his eyes trailed over to the almost catatonic corpse with mild interest.

"Testing something." Cristine answered and put her gun back in its holster. "Why are you here?"

"Following you, obviously." Troy slowly rose from the dirt, hands patting the excess sand from his pants. Now that he was caught, it wouldn't do to let her go alone.

"What're you testing?"

Cristine walked back to the infected, the sound of Troy's boots in line behind her an added presence to her outing.

"Not sure yet." Her answer was honest and as she untied the rope, Troy's figure loomed in her peripheral. Cristine felt his eyes staring hard at her while silent.

Eventually, she jerked her head up and showed him a scowl.

"What?"

Troy shrugged, but did not hide his curiosity, "it's just different to see you so invested in this, when you barely show any motivation with the guys and I."

"Because, when I'm with you, you're all royal assholes and call me out of my name. So excuse my lack of excitement, I'm trying to keep my sanity and not turn into a full blown psychopath."

"_We have enough of those in the militia."_

This time he shrugged with his lips and eyebrows and gestured at her pet. "How long did you let that poor soul rot?"

"Three weeks give or take," the throaty groan was not directed at anything in particular. Cristine pondered for a while and now that Troy was here, she'd use that to her fullest advantage.

"But I need more to get my test running. If you behave, you can help."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another trip, what do you guys think of the story so far?


	4. Chapter 4

Cristine could call Troy all sorts of monsters and words in the book, but the man was surely diligent in his tasks. She hid in the bushes when they came across a small group of unassuming infected strolling around.

Counting a total of seven, Cristine thought it best to split the group up. She'd take three and Troy the rest. She needed at least two not mutilated and agreed they'd use the remaining ones as practice for the recruits.

Cristine only had one machete and begrudgingly handed it over to the militia leader. With a final nod that was rather serious and focused, Troy prowled to the opposite side of the shrubbery and stone.

Cristine skulked with her docious pet along the bushes further away and waited. Perking only when she saw the full head of hair have a gander of the situation. Slipping one hand out she wrapped it around the dry bush and lightly shook it.

The sound was faint and didn't disturb her as much as it did the two infected. Their jaws opened and the vociferous snarling sounded as if it was stuck in their throats. Cristine held her breath and didn’t try to make any unexpected movements, but she watched the scene play out in front of her.

She didn’t know if it was because of the thrill of cutting them down or just because it was almost night. Troy looked like a demon, streaks of blood on his face as he swung his machete around to strike the first unexpecting dead. His movements were swift and fluid as he hacked of the arms of an infected. Ducking and swinging, he kicked a second one to the floor, and three others responded to their possible meal for the night.

Cristine exhaled and with a tense roll of her wrist brough out some rope and pulled it taut in her hands. The two walkers in her vicinity had noticed the disturbance and slowly twisted again and mindlessly swayed in Troy’s direction.

Dashing from the bushes, Cristine restrained the first body and kicked it in the legs to stun it. It pathetically fell on the ground, but clumsily managed to get up again with a frenzied hiss. Grimacing, she slammed the surface of her boot square into it’s kneecap to immobilize it and went for the second one.

The aim was to restrain and nothing more.

Hearing a grunt, Cristine’s head whipped up right to see the kicked one down aim for Troy. Two more swarmed him from the front. In a half-sprint she stabbed the closest one in the back of the head and felt it’s body stiffen until it dropped dead with a muffled sound on the dirt.

Permanently this time.

“I got it!” Troy assured her when she wanted to tackle the final one. After he overpowered a rather bulky one and successfully tied it up, Troy playfully outmanouvered the final one. Cristine furrowed her brows, when he taunted it to rile it up. As if he was enjoying a video game and not risking with his life.

_"Hope he gets bit."_

Unamused, Cristine decided to deal with the one with the broken leg and tied it up the same as the other first one she got. Twisting the dead around, she held made sure to tighten the rope with a double knot and as she finished the job restraining it dragging it back, she tied it against the tree similar to her own companion.

-

“So, what’s the hypothesis this time?” The two captured four of the seven dead. Two decapitated and the other half still in tact somewhat.

Ignoring Troy, Cristine glanced in the direction of the pet infected. Like when the gunshot sounded, it was struggling against the restraints. Weaker, but struggling still and her eyes dart in the direction of the rest one by one.

“Mine is still responding.” Cristine mused, much to Troy’s apparent confusion and chewed on her lip in thought. Rubbing her sweaty hands on the fabric of her denim pants, she circled around the walker in her company for the last weeks.

_“Once they don’t eat they grow weaker… but that doesn’t necessarily mean their appetite doesn’t fully wane with time.”_

Cristine bend forward to the mangled piece of flesh that didn’t have a jaw anymore. It’s skin was dried up and the unintelligent nickel grey eyes peered back. Slowly, but gradually she started to mimick its oscillating motions.

Side to side, back and forth and kept it up for almost five minutes without breaking focus. As if she was a snake charmer, trying to tame not a snake, but a corpse that would chew her face off if it wasn’t for the precaution they took for that not to happen.

Troy didn’t interrupt the woman, instead he let her ramble and copy its floaty behavior. He didn’t know what the hell she was doing, but it was probably one of her eureka moments. A smirk went on his lips despite himself watching her intently from where he stood.

This was the person he wanted to see in action.

When she brough her focus on the dead. Where Troy saw similarities in their way of needing to know the answer when they had a question. A motivated person that stand so close, looking these things straight in the eye and arrive at the point where nothing else mattered but a need to know why.

Troy didn’t know how long she was standing there, immersed in her own little world, staring at this thing that had no pain, wants, needs or even a shell of a person. But his body tensend and Troy’s line of sight changed when looking- hearing the rest of the infected.

Silence.

It was quiet. Eerily so.

Troy blinked rapidly, eyes shining a bright blue as he caught onto the premise of Cristine’s experiment. He didn’t move, afraid that he’d disturb the harmonious stillness of the unresponsive dead. Forget that the weakened one appeared docile - completely unthreatening - all of them were.

That long, sequence of nothing was broken when Cristine abruptly moved back.

“Like a hive mind.” Her conclusion was deadpanned, but Troy saw the bounce in her step and the excitement in it from a mile away. 

“Care to share, doc?” Cristine her head whipped in his direction, as if she’d really forgotten that he was still here. She scoffed bitterly and her features briefly turned sour from being so unguarded and watched by the last person she wanted.

“It seems starve the dead and turn them docile, isn’t a 100% foolproof. They still react, at a lower scale and less alert. At face value, that’s not really a problem since they’re tied and the mouth and limbs are cut off for safety measures.” Cristine scratched the top of her head and snapped her finger in front of the thing, as if to make her point.

Immediately, the rest got rowdier and the croaky hissing insistent.

“These things are pretty dumb and simple and rarely react on their own… when I walked around with this one, it was pretty placid and didn’t often react to me. I think it's because of that, that the ones around instinctively don’t either.”

She gestured at the animated infected and finished her explanation, “they behave or don’t depending what the others around them react to… hence why and how herds form.”

“That doesn’t really rule out human scent,” Troy countered with a sideward tilt of the head and Cristine shrugged easily.

“Not entirely true… I often had to hide for large groups under cars or bushes when these things got to big to fight against. If they could fully detect by scent alone then hiding would have been totally useless. Besides, the human olfactory system isn’t good enough to detect the presence of other people even when we’re alive.”

She pointed at the dead surrounding them and said, “that doesn’t seem to be evolving after this, especially when all the organs and neurons are in a state of decays. Their smell logically has to be a lot poorer than ours, but it doesn’t hurt to mask it just to be safe.”

-

The sun was completely down when Troy and Cristine snuck back on the Ranch. Unfortunately, Troy gave her a lecture for doing so in the first place. It was a breach of security and protocols if someone from outside had seen or followed her.

He’d put extra patrol on this particular blind spot and Cristine scowled in annoyance. She had very expressive eyes, especially when she was irked at him. Like right now. Cristine was more bothered by him than she would admit, so Troy intentionally made things difficult for her and forbid her on these solo experiments in the dead of night.

“Remember our deal Cristine.”

His words brought her back to reality and immediately back to the family of four. Her breathing paused for a long second before her cold glower returned and answered in a low voice, “I do. Every. Single. Day. I know you sleep like a baby after your daily dose of death and murder.”

It was crazy how quickly they ended up at the same volatile loop they always ended at when it was something other than the dead, research or doing chores.

"You don't need to remind me of what you really are. I already know."

Troy scoffed and raised his eyebrows haughtily and planted his hands on his hips, his narrowed eyes dangerously lowered on her shorter form. She’d never give him the satisfaction of seeing her like that night again; in her place.

“An what would that be?”

She didn’t bat an eye when she said the word in a contained, but hateful tone, “a monster.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this will be one of the last chapter talking about the science and theory of walkers, research and experiments for a while. Also, it's pretty difficult coming up with all these ideas, but I do enjoy writing it out XD. But, now it's time for action, so be prepared for the first group run outside ;) spoiler: Troy will start forcing Cristine into going out even if she doesn't want to. He's back to his overbearing and dominating self and my girl won't be getting any peace and quiet as she hoped.
> 
> What do you guys think about Troy x Cristine interacting? Is it believable or forced? I don't want to write them together, just for the sense of them together. It might look that way, especially because of the first chapters of this book, but that's solely because they're two geeks talking about the dead... their only real connection and shared interest at this point.
> 
> As you can see there are a lot of issues that need to be resolved and accepted/accounted for first. I will remind you that every time we're getting too comfortable around Troy, me included, lol.
> 
> Please vote, comment, recommend and share :)


	5. - Cristine & Troy -

"You're a _monster_." Cristine snapped, the word rolled from her tongue easily. The dislike in her voice so palpable it shifted the already hostile mood into something darker and judging.

The words didn't deter Troy, instead he shrugged unimpressed as a cynical look remained on his face when he briefly looked elsewhere.

Troy wasn't a fool. He knew the two of them would never see eye to eye. Too much had happened, but he wasn't going to beg for acceptance either. That test back then was spontaneous and he had a first row seat to her methodology. The way she was so immersed in it all had similarities and disparities with his own way of working.

Troy came to the conclusion: Cristine _liked_ the experiments. Sneaking out for who knows how long only proved his point that she was just like him. The same person she despised and called a monster.

Troy habitually raked his teeth over his lips with an expression of light irritation and asked, "kind of hypocritical of you, don't you think doc?"

"Given that _you're_ giving this monster ammunition to further his research." He saw her eyes narrow and knew he hit the mark. Just because she didn't pull the trigger didn't mean she wasn't a killer or any better than him.

"You and me are the same," he said lazily and with his hands in his pockets looked at her pointedly before shrugging again.

"We're the architects that make the schematics, while the others build the house so the majority can live comfortably in said house."

Cristine knew what Troy was doing and wouldn't walk in that manipulative trap he had set out for her. She wasn't going to play dumb or walk around in circles with him. They were passed that now and she'd already seen him for what he truly was when he continued with the killing for his research.

"Only my schematics aren't built on the blood of innocents. Yours are. Mine are meant for direct threats, not childish curiosity or some 'for my people' excuse and all that survival 101 bullshit. I'm not the 'architect' actively seeking out people for science so don't lump me in with you."

"So it would be fine when they're a direct threat?" Troy asked with a tilt of the head... if she was going to define when to kill people or not, that was even better. "Say there were assholes that came upon us guns blazing and we captured them... would that be better?"

"..."

"What? No comment? Come one, if we're gonna make these rules when we can and can't kill you should have your answer ready." He chuckled, "calling certain methods of fighting good and others bad, acting as if there is some nobility to it. It's bullshit and it's a fantasy to make people feel better about themselves. At least, I'm honest about it and giving it a meaningful purpose."

Cristine arched her brow at his words. "So that's your excuse? Say you promise you won't kill me and in a heartbeat do it anyway to prove something, that's the real joke. Otherwise, this _hell_ we're in is only going to get worse. We already have to deal with flesh-eating corpses, but the people that are still alive, some can still have a purpose. Even if you don't see it..."

"True," Troy agreed but he had his answer ready, "but it doesn't work like that anymore. This is human nature and we haven't advanced beyond the stone age. Because, at the end of the day what we're doing is the same: we kill to survive and to protect what's ours."

"There's no rules, no line... the world collapsed and you judge what I do, but in that same breath talk about dealing with real threats as if it still isn't paid by the pain of defeated in both scenario's. We call it 'we won and they lost'. So if I can understand the science, be called a monster by you, knowing you're not gonna do shit to stop me, then why the hell not?"

Troy hadn't mean to make this a one-sided conversation to point out the flaws in Cristine's moral lecture, but it felt too good to let this slide. She had nothing to say and was completely tongue-tied.

It felt good to drag her down that high horse. It's not as if she hadn't been outside to witness this burned world at her own hands. Perhaps even killed people so she could live. What did she need to prove so hard by acting so vehemently against him?

At the core of it all, the two of them were _exactly_ the same.

Troy struggled with his thoughts on where to draw the line with Cristine for he enjoyed their little scuffles and talks more than he'd admit out loud. She had potential even if others didn't see it and was an asset to the Ranch... even he'd admit that to himself.

But something held her back to keep that person hidden. Maybe he had to make her see it.

He'd waited for opportunities and even invited her to one of their runs, but maybe he just had to disregard her wants. It seemed she forgot what far outside the walls was like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter just happened, but I like it! I will be starting to slowly move a bit away from the dead and will combine that with good old fashion kill or be killed and morally grey topics.
> 
> Tell me what y'all think about Troy's philosophy about how he (always) sees the world. I love to discussion and the moral dilemmas it brings with it.


	6. Chapter 5

Cristine pounded on Troy's front door, demanding he open up. Her knocks got louder and faster until her fist started to throb in pain. 

"Troy! You lying piece of- open the damn door Troy! You got some explaining to do!"

"Sheesh, if I knew you'd come and pay me a visit this early in the morning, I would've tidied up the place."

Cristine whirled a full 180 degrees, face steeled and eyes ablaze with nothing but scorn. Below the stairs that led to the porch of the big house stood Troy, flushed and his chest faintly jolting up and down as he caught his breath. 

"Y'know with the amount of times you come knocking at our door, people will gossip. And I just want to put it out there that you're not my ty-"

"What the hell did you do?"

Troy ascended his porch in a lazy stride and stood less than an arm's length away from her. She had to lift her head to meet his gaze and he felt puzzled by her iris that were large stains of wood and black pigments... their size gave it a sense of depth and tranquility. If not for the way her eyebrows were clenched together, he'd mistake her gaze as less hostile.

"Troy." The stern manner in which she said his name brought forth a laid back smirk. Troy broke the lengthened nonverbal contact and toured in the direction of his porch chair. 

"It's just a simple recon trip, nothing special." He explained while cleaning his muddy shoes from the field work early in the morning. 

"I said I wasn't going." Cristine bit back in defense and haughtily pulled up her nose. If she knew exchanging information with Troy would be this cumbersome, she rather trade it for the previous harassment. 

At least then, he ignored her presence.

Many people looked at her with admiration and fondness. They saw her in a new light and even sat with her. Just today, some of the teens badgered her about the dead-alive, as they called the infected, and how life was outside the walls. To make matters worse, in the background her father's proud smile couldn't get any wider. The only reason she ended up in this situation was pure luck. 

She was lucky to have come in contact with the pathogen, lucky to have a mentor and fellow colleagues to help uncover the basic theories behind the pathogen and lucky to have survived until now. It was luck that she found her father's journal and luck that she made it all the way here alive. Lucky she had her family's picture in her back pocket.

If it wasn't for all that, Cristine was sure she'd never even be in this place. The sheep definitely wouldn't have tolerated her. She'd probably already have a bullet inside her brains right now, rotting in the dessert like many.

"Don't worry, it's just to clear the perimeter and scout the area. Your name came up." 

"Bullshit." Cristine cleared the distance in a few strong strides. 

"Woah, woah, language!" Troy reminded her as casual as he could and paused when she gripped the front of his shirt. Her face contorted into an ugly frown and with clenched teeth spat in a accusatory voice.

"I'll kill any of you who sets a foot near me." She recollected that frustrating night when they killed people. That innocent and scared family she had tried to help in vain, the sickness and her helplessness. She never felt so damn useless in her life.

She wanted to be a reasonable person, but Troy and his group of psychopaths needed to prove something. 

Blue eyes flicked in the direction of the new gauze over the side of her neck. It was slightly red from the blood and it seemed to hurt her so now and then judging from the twitch on her face. 

When had that happened?

"No need for the threat, I'm just helping you out like I promised." Troy lifted his hands and wrapped them around her wrists, his grip controlled and firm, but not hard enough to hurt.

"I'm already doing everything you want and more. Instead you lie, again, just for your goals. You want to murder innocents in the name of science again?" She argued hotly, daring him to come up with some excuse to act like a barbarian. 

"You really should let that go. It had a purpose. You haven't been that far out north and they've been popping up at the border more often than we like. As the leader I have to make complicated decisions; my humanity or my people. I always choose my people and I never regret it." 

Cristine laughed, incredulous that Troy was actually convinced by his own delusion of having to choose between his supposed morality and the slaughter of yesterday. "Yeah, you're struggling so, so much I feel sorry to see you suffer like this."

"You don't have to agree with my decisions, I really don't care. But some people still feel that our all knowing infectiologist needs to earn her keep. You've been outside and survived. You can tag along." He shared casually and showed her a smug smile that exposed her situation wouldn't change. Not until he decided it and convinced his father and his men that she earned it. 

His father didn't truly want her here, but with some coaxing from him and Jake, that could be arranged. She'd be tolerated by big Otto and that was the best thing to hope if she wanted a permanent and peaceful place on the Otto's land.

Before, Troy was completely indifferent to her presence and rather not have her here. He didn't pick her and he didn't feel like she deserved to be here. Even if she was the daughter of James, a founder and respected man in the community.

At the start, the only advantage of her presence was the fact that as a pariah she could be used as an outlet. It was amusing to see her riled up all the time and try her best. This new world was draining and some people were in need of a distraction. It might've not been the best way, but she wasn't harmed too much. 

She was still a member of the Gerrard family.

But ever since she revealed what she did in the old world and her connection with the virus, she became useful. It didn't matter that in order for him to know, meant threatening her family, stealing her journals or this. He was the one in charge to make these calls.

Also, their talk yesterday convinced him that Cristine's skills could be used in other ways. 

Cristine proved she was smart and inventive and all that... but how was she outside? She'd survive so far in a group and then on her own. Those skills too, could become an asset to his ever growing militia.

Troy was convinced that if she'd be outside, she'd have a clearer vision of what they were fighting for. Not just against the dead, but to keep this place running and protected from potential enemies in the wild. 

He heard Cristine snort at the bold faced lie. On the contrary, people were nicer and more welcoming because of what she'd share with them. "Yet the Shafford family who arrived some time after me doesn't have to prove a thing ... makes you wonder." 

"It does, doesn't it?" Troy still had that damn smirk on his face and finally tensed his fingers around her wrists. She was alive and well because of his mercy but still ungrateful. That didn't sit right with Troy. He was doing her a favor and even tried to go about this the right way. But she more than often forced his hand.

"Remember our many conversations about this?" He was well aware that he was caging her, the small twitch of her lip the only response, but other than that she didn't react to being intimidated by him. 

"Remember what you promised me so, so many times?" She was taunting him, this early in the morning and it amazed Troy how bold Cristine became again. 

"Despite what the sheep think or feel, you haven't earned your keep... Not until I say so and vouch for you. Doesn't matter if you're daddy's Birdie." His bright blue eyes sharpened and his glossy orbs chilled considerably.

Cristine called him on his bluff, "then why the hell didn't you and your pack of hyenas kill me when you found me in the dessert or with that family?" The heat seeped through her bones and Cristine felt her stiff fingers uncurl from the fabric of his shirt from the vice grip that only seemed to tighten. 

"No one would've known, least of all my father. But for some reason you changed your mind when you saw the picture," she sneered. 

"The stain of one of your most respected Founding Father and you could've ended it right then and there." The sheer venom in her tone fascinated him, her father was the only thing that actually set her off.

Such a daddy's girl.

"Now where would the fun in that be?" He paused for what felt like an eternity, making Cristine thoroughly irritated waiting for his response. "I didn't want to take away the spotlight of dear old dad's decision to mix it up a bit." 

Cristine scowled and attempted to tear herself from the abusive grip. Every facet of her existence was denigrated or shunned and she just had to take it? 

"Let me go you maniac!" She growled as his grip further tightened. He didn't want to hurt her, just scare her to see the fear in her face. So he egged her to do more, but he insulted her so casually it was hard to ignore.

Troy wasn't only disrespecting her, but also her parent's relationship. Her late mother.

"Know your place and things like this won't have to happen. God, I thought we discussed this. I can't help you if you keep acting like this." He tugged her more forcefully and brought her closer to him than was necessary, to the point where he could see the black of her pupils stretched.

"Now we need volunteers and you're one of the capable ones. If you're able to impress, I can put in a good word for you with the guys and my dad... trust me you need it." Troy taunted her with his last words and loosened his hand enough so she could push against his chest. "Or are you afraid to go back out there?"

His eyes flickered to the skin of her wrists on instinct. There weren't any bruising or marks. The defiance that still leaked from her body was more than enough to push what he had done to the back of his mind. 

Cristine mulled his words over in her head while she resisted to rub the trauma of her throbbing wrists. It was as if he was waiting for her to do just that and acknowledge he was stronger than her. Instead, her blinking increased, probably thinking over his taunting words of calling her a coward.

"The only one afraid is you... dragging me into stuff that has nothing to do with me because you can't figure shit out by yourself." She bit back and stormed off.

"Make sure you get proper sleep, we're heading out early!"


	7. Chapter 6

"Now you be careful out there alright?" James said as he rubbed his daughter's arms after that long hug, his brows creasing in concern. "I was surprised to hear you volunteered."

A smile that was sure to even fool her father flickered on Cristine's face. "I have the experience, so it makes sense." Saying those words out loud just crashed her mood. This whole run was some ploy of the youngest Otto kin.

She was a game to him.

Blue eyes twinkled with untold worry, telling the tales of his mind, yet his craggy skin, short white hair, a ready smile radiant warmth and calmness. She could just keep looking at her father to renew her energy and momentarily forget the distraction.

"You already proved yourself, Birdie. Don't be so hard on yourself." She saw his gaze briefly flick past her in the direction of Troy and saw his pupils stretch. Even her father seemed to have some sort of dislike towards the militia leader.

"You uh, you be careful with him too. He takes his leadership role very serious and I don't blame him. So don't be too stubborn and bite your tongue, I need you back home in one piece." Her father's concern was noted and Cristine nodded back in agreement. She was happy to have him as that tiny voice of reason when things got too much.

"I know. I got this daddy." Cristine smiled the first genuine smile towards her father and it seemed as if that also made his body relax.

"Gerrard, we're leaving!" The obnoxiously loud voice of Willy in the background soured her good mood, but it helped clear Cristine's mind of the pack she was unwilling joining for this run.

"You take care of Hailey." Cristine said as her eyes toured in the direction of her younger sister who stood at Dolores her side. She saw the look of worry in her bright eyes and the way she bit her lips with her teeth.

"I will, you come back home safe and sound."

_Home_. Cristine thought with a strange flutter in her stomach. It was the first time her father referred to it as such. Perhaps, she should clear the air about his revived addiction.

-

To Cristine's utter dismay, she had to share a drive with the almighty militia leader and his best friend in the truck. Coop, Blake and Willy drove one of the Ranch' tactical jeeps. To make matters even worse, Troy confiscated her gun for now, as he couldn't take any chances of her attacking them in a spit of irrational anger. She'd get it back when she 'cooled down'.

The only irrational individuals here were these immature pricks playing wannabe soldier. Troy was the epitome of it. Still, Cristine could only bitterly look outside, locking her irritation from showing, while the screeching and grating heavy metal music pounded.

Despite the manner in which she was forced back from behind the walls, Cristine couldn't help but admire the landscape. The world was in ruins, but nature continued to thrive without humanity. The rock formations with its long and arid landscape and mountains was such a contrast to the dessert waste she scoured in the agonizing and sun burnt weeks.

Cristine leaned her arm on the half open window and pressed her half fisted hand against her cheek. Cristine relished the roaring winds that twirled through some of her loose dark brown curls and whistled in her ears.

Mike suddenly called, "stop daydreaming Gerrard. There's a couple of them on the road we need to take clear."

Cristine looked to the front with a narrowed gaze and didn't reply. She just took the knife by her side and realized Troy had long left the driver's seat.

Cristine slammed the door shut once she’d gotten out. Mike was about to taunt her with a backhanded comment, but swallowed his words as he stared ahead, just as he exit the truck.

Her movements were swift and fluid as she hacked through the wasted. She didn't play with them as much as Troy, who cut off a limb or two, kicked it to the ground and finished it with a smirk. No, she was straight to the point and immediately went for the fatal blow.

Cristine was good with handling a knife, courtesy of her military born father she would say. And she'd kill enough of these things to know where to strike. Cristine occasionally stunned some to the knees with a kick, but her kill was uncomplicated.

"Hey, leave some for us too you selfish dogs!" Willy shouted from the back as he sprinted forward with his weapon in his right hand.

Cristine was happy to be occupied right now, if only for a moment. She genuinely wondered how Iong it had been since she had been so far out the walls.

It felt like ages.

A creature waddled in her direction. It looked like it had been a bald man once upon a time. Fresh blood and bits of skin were smudged across its mouth. It was also missing a chunk from his neck. It was a wonder the head was still balancing on its shoulders.

They were so ugly and nasty and without a purpose. Cristine tensed as she made her way through the mindless corpse and a couple more and eventually ended up next to Troy. When he saw her, his eyes flashed dangerously as if he hadn't expected her to join them. Troy chopped the head off the infected in front of him swiftly, but didn't say anything. He killed a couple more and Cristine caught up to him when the dead got too close. The others helped purge until all the wasted were down.

Then, it was quiet, save for the pants of exertion.

"Whooo! That never gets old!" Willy, still rushing high with adrenaline, yelled with such enthusiasm he excitedly pointed at Blake with the end of his crowbar. "How long did it take us to mow them down this time Blakey?"

"2.53 minutes. We beat our last record," Blake sniggered after he announced the overall time of taking down this small horde.

"That's what I'm fucking talking about!" Willy wiped his forehead feeling rejuvenated and even cracked a weird smile in Cristine's direction. "Good reflexes Gerrard, so how many does that make?"

She wore a puzzled expression and Willy took this as a chance to boast it seemed. With a slight raise of his chin, he leisurely swung the machete at the round of bodies around him. "How many did you off? Mine is thirty-two, just second to Troy. Mike got twenty-nine and if I'm not mistaken Blakey and Cooper are tied with twenty-seven." He tipped his chin in her direction once more and asked.

"How many you got?"

Cristine fought the urge to roll her eyes all the way to the back of her head. Of course- of course they did such juvenile games as counting the amount of dead they killed. She felt everyone's eyes on her and Cristine inspected the silver of her dark red coated knife. Then at the corpses dropped on the hot tarmac.

"From what I can see here six… I don't keep count, too busy not getting my face chewed off and all."

"Awh, don't be shy. You must've counted them in the beginning at least. Don't tell me you didn't have to off some colleagues that got bit when you had to evacuate your fancy lab?" Now Willy was just trying to annoy and push her buttons.

"They're the ones that you vividly remember, in particular the ones that complained all the time." The simper on his face was taunting, but Willy kept going on as if this was a two-way conversation. It wasn't helping that the guys were agreeing with him from their chuckles.

"None." Cristine shook her head and unconsciously tapped her index finger against the side of her knife.

"You can't tell me that there wasn't one or two that didn't rile you up? Or maybe it was your prick of a boss. Now no one likes those!"

Cristine snorted out softly and arched her brow at the prying blond. "What is it to you how many I killed? The only thing that matters is that they're down end of story."

What was his problem with her anyway?

"I can see why your stepmom can't stand your guts. You have absolutely no personality and no humor."

"Huh, I can see why none of the girls at the Ranch bother with you. You're an asshole."

Willy showed his teeth and his shoulders trembled as he fought back his urge to laugh in her face. She was so easy to rile up.

"No need for the names, I'm just making some small talk."

Cristine made a face and chucked her knife into the back of her pocket and stalked back to the truck without caring for all the eyes that looked at her. She didn’t want to breathe the same air- let alone converse with either of these maniacs for too long.

Troy cleaned the blade of his machete before sheathing it. “Alright, boys. Fun’s over. We still have a few clicks to go.”

After that little event, the rest of the group went back to their vehicles and headed off.

-

As the vehicles cruised down the terrain, travelling south, Cristine noticed the environment slowly convert from sand and mountain into packed trees. When they passed a lopsided and blood-smeared sign, the half faded words **wildlife animal par**k could be read.

_"Hunting?" _Cristine thought unsure and tightened her hands around the cap of her elbows to push down the queasy feeling that build up in her belly.

The night came in stages. First, a silent calm settled around the path. The wind came to life in the trees, dropping the temperature and then a dark blue glow around the edges of the forest signaled everyone to set up their small camp.

The sense of urgency was immediate. Even with their vehicles, they were out in the open and exposed, so everone concentrated on their tasks: creating a perimeter with wires and cans as alarm, setting up their sleeping cots, and prepping food and deciding shifts in pairs.

Cristine had one of the last shifts with Cooper, so in the meantime she helped the big man with gassing up their rides. While pouring the gas, she thought she saw the inquisitive gaze of Coop on her.

Cristine purposely acted as if she didn't feel his eyes, her face grim. It was clear that he wanted to start a conversation.

"Where'd you learn how to kick ass?" He must’ve been tired of waiting for her to make eye contact, so Cooper voiced his question out loud anyway and Cristine had the urge to roll her eyes. She just regulated her breathing, dipped the gas until the edge and twisted the cap back on both objects.

Finally, she raised her head to see that the bearded giant rather patiently waited for her response and Cristine replied evenly, “took some self-defense classes back in the day. The dead were trial and error." Wetting her lips she said, “you’re pretty good with that bow and arrow yourself.”

Cooper smiled and with it his eyes lit up, glad she not only noticed but complimented him too. The large man shrugged and in the meantime stashed the cans in the back and strapped it all together under the rest of the supplies.

“Yup, did hunting ever since I was a kid. My granddaddy taught me how to use it and it sure as hell helps keeping things quiet when we can’t use our guns.”

Cristine nodded after that small bit of information before she checked on the straps and everything, making sure it was all tight and packed together.

“Y’know…” Cooper started, his eyes flicked between Cristine and the guys back at the camp. It was difficult to read his full expression from his beard, but there was a calmness and sincerity under all that.

“You did right by me.”

With slanted eyes and a mild frown on her face, Cristine twisted her body halfway in Cooper’s direction. Her gaze urged him to continue, but also warned him to pick whatever he was about to say to her carefully.

“I know we can be pretty intense, but we're the good guys. Loyal guys. Once the others warm up to you, you’ll feel more comfortable around us.”

Sucking in both her lips, Cristine dropped her head to shield the severe expression on her face before she lifted it again to make eye contact with Cooper. She didn’t know whether to laugh or smile so she shared her personal thoughts as civil as possible.

“I don’t want to be comfortable around any of you,” she admitted with a shrug of her shoulders and to Coop it felt as if her attention wasn’t fully here. But then the spark returned as if she’d make up her mind to what she was going to say to him.

“Because, if I’m comfortable, it means I’m letting my guard down. Doing that got me in this clusterfuck with your fearless leader and this obsession with the dead. Being comfortable around you guys means I’ve let bygones be bygones and that I’ve forgotten.”

Her voice lowered an octave, but the accusation in it was clear, “And I don’t forget.”

Cooper didn’t speak to Cristine the rest of the night and none of the others bothered her. So, Cristine build her own little spot away from the rest but not too far to jeopardize her own safety and started a small fire with some paper and a wick. She had gotten her gun back from that smug bastard Troy. So since she wasn’t quite tired yet, she thought it best to clean her gun until she did.

She remembered her father emphasizing she regularly clean the tool. So to look for some distraction that didn’t involve mentally exhausting herself over the group, cleaning her weapons became one of her key drivers to pass time and clear her mind.

Cristine inwardly smiled at the thought when she saw her father’s face when she asked him to show her how. Even if they hadn’t talked about his substance abuse, Cristine was in a messed up place.

If it wasn’t about tiptoeing around Troy, it were either the panic attacks, thinking about her last group, the obession with the dead or just the bad, bad experiences of these months.

With her dexterous hands and fingers, Cristine unloaded the gun and removed the bolt. Meanwhile, her mind drifted as she pictured herself in a secluded cabin up in the mountains with her father and Hailey.

She envisioned a simple life, just the three of them and with not much to worry about. Maybe they’d have a few horses, some crops and cattle to get by. It would be just them, away from the madness and protecting each other.

Cristine’s mind came out of her reverie after she set the cleaned up bolt aside and working from the breech end, ran a cleaning rod down the barrel. After a sequence of continuous motions, ensuring she got the barrel ready for routing, Cristine repeated the strokes at least ten times.

She was sensitive to her surroundings, so when a sound crept into her ears, Cristine automatically took out her blade. She whipped her chin over her left shoulders and like an alert hound waited on her spot like a statue. Her eyes drifted over the faint outlines of the cans of their perimeter and shifting in her cross-legged position slowly got to her feet, blade in her palms.

She felt the pumping inside her chest waiting to jump out and take over. But she forced her legs to stand firmly on the ground, conscious to respond when this invisible danger would appear. It sat there like a ball ready to be propelled towards the darkness.

Cristine reflexively twirled the handle of the knife in her hand and instantly relaxed when the silhouette of Mike and Troy appeared. In spite of herself, she breathed out a sigh of relief and ignored the strange looks she got from the duo. Cristine rolled her eyes and dropped back on her makeshift cot and her disassembled gun.

She thought the pair of friends would walk by to the rest and not surprisingly only Mike did. Feeling that her personal space was yet again invaded saw Troy lower to his hunches. Cristine straightened her pose before looking at him.

“First time?” Troy asked curiously, referring to the dismantled gun.

Cristine’s brows furrowed in confusion at the man’s random intrusiveness. Even small talk with Troy was just unpredictable and strange.

“Why?”

Troy’s eyes skimmed over the parts that lay between her legs on the cloth as cold as nails. Each part taken from the earth; the metal and the gun powder, and he thought it one of the most finest pieces of art.

“You took it apart all the way… we call that field stripping, which isn't really necessary. Your gun is still in tip top shape. You can just remove the barrel."

Cristine didn’t know that and shrugged at his feedback.

“Yeah, well… if I’m looking for spare parts to replace or repair it someday, I need to know what they look like first,” Cristine mumbled and brushed back a stray curl from her forehead.

Troy’s eyes darted up from the gun pieces to Cristine, her brows tugged together in what resembled a permanent frown. His jaw relaxed and immersed in wandering thoughts, ran his tongue over his parted teeth.

“My father always said that a person that takes care of their guns is a person with discipline.” Troy shared and took the clips of bullets and distracted his hands by playing with it.

“They’re fine craftsmanship, one of the best inventions in my opinion.” There was a boyish spark in his eyes as he talked about the weapon and Cristine shot back, deadpanned, “Do you need something?”

“From you? No." Cristine would almost be offended by Troy's answer. Silence took over before Troy scraped his throat and shared, "seeing you just now got me thinking if you ever tried to off yourself."

"I mean you were in the wasteland... alone... with no people around you. No place to call home. Just drifting and getting by."

Cristine's palm felt warm around the unassembled metal piece. She listened and the first question that came to mind was why Troy was so obsessed with death.... and badgering her about it?

"I wouldn't know how I'd get by in all honesty. Not having my family around, my home destroyed, and wandering. Sleepless nights cause of the bad times just waiting for you when you wake up."

Cristine shook her head. "Not really. I knew my goal. And despite all the shit, my family and I are reunited."

"You had a mission." Troy understood the drive of having a goal to work towards to. It instilled a certain mind set not everyone had.

Putting down the magazine clip, a ghost of a smile split his lips. "One which you fulfilled with flying colors. So what's the next one?"

"Why do you _care_?" Cristine showed an upsetting face that left little to the imagination that she was tired with his twenty-one questions. She was tired with his game of words.

"Everyone needs a purpose." His answer surprised her and the fact that he was so serious about it perplexed her even more. "Sure, you know your stuff with the dead and all, but there's more to what you can do. I know it."

"And you're helping me find it? My purpose?" She nodded, as if matching these tiny, complex puzzle pieceus of Troy Otto as a whole. "Is that why you suddenly want me to like and accept you and your men?" She asked with an unimpressed tone.

"You _want_ me to become buddies with them... with you." Cristine thought she saw him tense at her accusations, so she took it up a notch. "Even going as far as to say that we're the same, which is bullshit- you don't know anything about me."

Troy was silent for a long moment, choosing to simply process her vehement accusations. Then his words pierced her like knives.

"I understand enough about you to see that you're still being held back by something. Something that happened before the Ranch... your last group is my guess." The way she fought not to look away out of anger proved to Troy that he was right in his deduction.

"I also know for a fact that you get how this world works. I see you as an asset to me and my militia. So for now, suck it up. 'Cause it's us against the world whether you like it or not."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of the guys are warming up to Cristine and Troy is back with his weird conversations. Cristine calls bs on it all. She needs time to adjust and bears grudges for a long time, hence her harsh responses to everyone. She wants to protect herself and cannot simply forget and forgive.
> 
> Do give feedback and your overall thoughts of this chapter and stay tuned for the next. I'll be posting it very soon 😉


	8. - Cristine & Willy -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Personally my least favorite chapter, because of you know who has too much screen time already. But this is going to be an important one for the progress of the story. Again: will Cristine ever catch a break? Probably not

Each step left a fresh, crisp footprint in the ground. It's as if they're the only souls to have ever walked this place, but the tracks of a stray deer proved otherwise.

The group were following a lead, well Cooper and Troy mostly did, the rest followed and were on full alert. Cristine raised her arm, using her sleeve to wipe the perspiration from her forehead. The glare of light peeked between the trees and the wind lay low.

Eventually, the group paused at an intersection of the paths of sorts and Troy gathered the group around with a silent signal. From his tactical vest, he plucked out a map and silently looked at it first before nodding.

"Alright, past these points we'll split up in groups of two. Cooper and Blake will hunt for thebdeer. Willy and Cristine at the end of this path there's a cabin. It belonged to a park ranger." Troy pointed to right and showed the two the map. Apparently in the cabin there were usefulbtools they could take back to the Ranch.

"Aside from the hiking gear, there can be some light building tools and walkies left in the place. I need you two to scout the area. Mike and I will check this path and meet you two there with the truck and jeep after we're done."

Everyone nodded, and the three long range walkies were divided among the group before everyone split up.

-

Cristine felt some sense of urgency as she and Willy got going. It was a sense of nakedness of being so exposed and flanked in these woods without their vehicles, so she concentrated on the task at hand: reaching this cabin and finding the equipment with the hope that someone else hadn't ransacked the place before them.

She really didn't want to be around Willy. Son of a bitch was the last person she'd be at ease with having her back. If she had to choose between these five assholes; her safest bet, which was already saying something. It would be Cooper, Mike and Blake. In that order.

If it was between Troy and Willy, Cristine would rather go solo and figure it out herself. But here she was, with the second psychopath himself. Her thoughts wandered to last night and the oh so fantastic way she was woken up for her shift.

-

_During the night, the camp grew still like a spell that's hushed everyone. All the bright airiness of the long day faded, darkness fell like a velvet blanket and all that's left were the low ambers of the campfire that threw a flicker across the night. There's not even a breeze to disrupt the thick shrubbery, but the lightest breath of movement momentarily blocked the faint light. It's the sort of movement visible on the peripherals of vision, the kind that breeds rumors of real life monsters lurking in the dark dragging shadows with them like coattails. _

_Willy stopped in the shadows, his body shifting back to solid in a dizzying rush of suddenly fleshed out bones and skin. He prowled towards the more secluded spot in the darkness. He strained his eyes, focusing on where the outline of the person rested. Like a predator at night, he began to approach. _

_She was asleep. _

_Perched halfway on her side, her left arm curled underneath the makeshift pillow of a jacket and the other over her stomach. From her breathing, she was in a deep enough slumber to block out any outside noise. Willy did his very best to push down the carefree smirk on his face as a callousness swept over him. _

_Off-guard. Relaxed. Weak. Dead meat. So many words to describe the sleeping woman. He wasn't going to actually kill her, no, he just wanted to spook her. Dark irises from the lack of light perused for any traps. She'd survive alone and sleep wouldn't come so easily, especially not around a group she despised. _

_"Knife's probably under the pillow." He quickly deduced and reached for his front pocket and brandished his own hunting knife. A soundless exhale. Another quiet step. _

_He was just an arms length away from her. _

_He saw her body twitch and Willy's pupils dilated, his muscles tensed and he dashed forward. His limbs were long and he had her pinned down in no time. Either legs trapping her sides, left palm pushing the struggling arm behind her head from showing. Blocking the attempt to pull out her weapon and his so dangerously close to nipping her bare neck. _

_Her breathing was non-existent, holding back from exhaling lest her skin touch his blade. A contained movement that piqued his interest more than it should have. Willy's eyes wandered up, having adjusted to the darkness and squeezed her restrained left arm tighter when he saw her look up at him. Confirming his conclusion that she was indeed stark awake and just pretending to rest, waiting for someone to do this… waiting for him. _

_"Too bad you were too slow." He whispered and the smile that wanted to grow on his face froze. An uncomfortable feeling pricked between the center of his legs and Willy clenched his jaw. _

_"Thank god you're so predictable." Cristine whispered back, eyes like a void. A dark void. A never ending one that consumed everything. _

_"At least I'll cut straight through skin, your artery. You'll lose consciousness in about 5 seconds. It'll be a mercy kill." _

_"Enough time from me to stab you so that you bleed to death. That will hurt like hell." She replied indifferently. _

Willy _was surprised and unnerved to see her certainty. Her determination. If she was going out, she rather take someone with her. It was like facing the depth of a never-ending portal of hell waiting to swallow him up with its imminent ruin. _

_Pure self-destruction. _

_Like the unhinged person that he was, Willy couldn't help but sneer at the woman. She wasn't afraid of dying so he asked with earnest curiosity, "you wanna die?" _

_".." _

_"Or maybe you're just scared of dying alone?" He cocked his head, unclenched his hand from above her and smiled. "I'm flattered, really, but it's not my time. I rather die for a more noble cause and this just isn't it." He shared, as if bored with this situation and removed the knife from her throat and placed it back inside the front pocket of his tactical vest. _

_He pushed down the feeling in his groin. It was crazy he got this way everytime he got in these disputes with her. She was more fun to annoy than he imagined and before Willy's imagination went awry with sadistic thoughts that would compromise his current state of body, he pushed it all down._

_Shaking his head with a sigh, Willy rose to his feet and smilingly said, “fyi, it’s time for your shift."_

-

It was the most random bullshit Cristine went through, which she was prepared for. It was a harassment that happened on more than one occasion.

_"Can't think about that now Cris, you're armed and can defend yourself."_ She thought, while glaring at the back of Willy's head. Sniping him would be so easy right now...

The two make the mile hike until Willy stopped at the front and bend down to look at something on the ground.

Cristine quickly joined the ruddy blonde and pursed her lips together to see the clear bootmarks in the mud.

"They're fresh," Willy said and tapped his riffle with the side of his hand as if in thought. "Could be the park ranger, could be someone else..."

"Let's call it in, it doesn't have to be anything. But these marks don't look like it belongs to a dead one." Cristine suggested.

Willy agreed and swiped the walky from his pants to call in what they found. Unfortunately, either they or the others were in deep, but the connection was jack. The only response was static and snow.

They were sitting ducks.

"We should follow the tracks and lay low," Willy decided after shortly contemplatinf what next.

"Let's head back so we can get a proper signal and tell the rest. There might be more people who are on a hunting trip." Cristine retorted with a shake of the head and preferred the caution.

Willy disagreed and jabbed his thumb in the direction they were heading to and urged, "we need to see what we're dealing with first."

"That's not-"

"You're not fucking in charge!" Willy hissed as if she'd hurt his already fragile ego by voicing her opinion.

Cristine sneered back, but remained level headed with this asshole, "it's not about who is in charge, it's called using your brains. If we get caught or the others ambushed that's on us."

"Only reason why we'd be ambushed is because you'd be slacking. I'm the one calling the shots so get right with it." Willy ended the conversation and with that continued head on like a bull.

Cristine grit her teeth, spat on the ground and with a frustrated sound begrudgingly shadowed the man. Her trigger finger itched, but she doused it down by staying focused. It wouldn't do anyone any good if she'd allowed herself to get dragged in the pettiness instead of thinking of her life.

_"Calm down and focus."_ It was a mantra she repeated inside her head. Scaling the path that slowly got steeper, they encountered a single infected on the way. A wandering hicker and Willy easily puts out her lights by quickly chopping a furrow into her skull.

Plastered down behind some dense bushes, the cabin and a rusty looking truck were in sight. In silence, Cristine swallowed and made eye contact, ever mindful of the shadows of adjacent woods.

_"Happy? We got their location. Now let's go." _She tried to convey as much as she could with head, eyes and hand gestures, but Willy shook his head.

_"I'm going around the back."_ He didn't wait for her to confirm or deny his stupidity and already started crawling over the ground between the shrubs.

_“Fucking testosterone pumped child.”_ While, staying together was a lot better than splitting up at this point, Cristine decided to prowl in the opposite direction. She hadn’t seen footsteps in the path she took, so Cristine guessed whoever was here hadn’t fully checked the surroundings of the cabin.

Ears straining, her breathing had become loud in her ears. It was like entering some empty movie set. Taking in what little detail, Cristine peeked from the side of the bush and saw the parked truck.

She didn’t see anything of value from where she sat. Droplets of sweat annoyingly trickled down the fringe of her brows. As the time passed, the musty heat became unbearable and the best Cristine could do was swift scampering to the next section of bushes. Closer to the truck.

Letting her eyes move over the outline in the rust. During the long wait, she had her handgun out, safety off and her insides squirmed in a way they hadn’t since she was last cornered.

**Click**

“Drop it, doll.”

-

Cristine hadn’t surrendered without fighting. When she kicked her gun aside and stood, she was in the better position for an elbow strike. So, when the male closed in to perform a grimy inspection, Cristine raised her right elbow to shoulder height. On the same-side foot, she pivoted and created momentum into the blow and struck the taller man into his jaw.

“Fucking bitch!” The man howled out in pain, the intensity visible in his tone. He was momentarily stunned and Cristine dove for the gun she kicked aside, only for a second shadow to appear in her front view.

She didn’t register that she’d hit the ground until her world spun like a ball. Her eyes close and suck hers into a deeper place to cope. Her heart rate came down almost twenty beats per minute.

Groaning, Cristine sluggishly wanted to move her hand to the spot on her head she got hit. But the air was knocked out of her when a iron blow to her abdomen elicit a breathless cry from her lips.

She reflexively curled into a ball when a barrage of stone hard kicks and punches, until it stopped and she heard the scuffle of boots.

“Calm the fuck down Joey, the bitch is down! No need to kick her to death!”

Cristine was on the ground, face closed in a grimace, skin pale and clammy. Every few seconds she would groan, the iron in her mouth nasty. It had a raw quality on her tongue and she couldn’t help but wonder in her pain: where the fuck was Willy?!

She didn’t know what these men were talking about, didn’t care much, but Cristine tried to get up. She had to bite her lip to keep from crying out. Sharp pain lanced through her head and colorful spots flashed in front of her eyes and wiped her sleeve over one of them when a crimson wetness drizzled down.

“We can take her back with us…" the second voice suggested to the angry Joey.

“Bitch nearly broke my jaw Dan! This one’s gonna be a pain in the fucking ass! She’s a fighter.”

“Just the type Aaron likes… asshole's been in a rut lately. One that fights back will do him good.”

The words barely registered in her ears, but she needed to get out of here … away from these men. Wincing in pain, she started to reach out for the empty space and dragged herself away from them.

She didn’t come far and yelped when a hand dug into her skull and yanked her at the hair. “Son of a bitch!” She hissed in pain as every asset of her face swiveled into a raging one.

“Don’t worry doll, we’ll take good care of ya before we hand you over to our boss.” With each word the tension on the roots went taut and searing fiery bursts pulsates on her scalp, intensifying with each step the tall man dragged her by the hair to the cabin.

Cristine tried to look around for Willy, eyes wide in apprehension for what was to come. Blood oozed from her wounds and as desperate as she looked, no help came. But as drunk on pain as she was in the moment, Cristine swore she saw Willy in the thicket of the bushes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do y'all believe Willy was actually there or is it a figment of my girl's imagination, because she's in pain? The mind can be a tricky thing. Next chapter may be triggering, so read with caution or skip it entirely.


	9. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: attempted (sexual) assault, explicit descriptions of blood and gore. If you are sensitive to these things or find them triggering I advice you not to read this chapter.

Bruises and blood adorned her face and Cristine had a split lip too. She rather these men beat her to death than imagine what they were about to do to her. She knew what they wanted to do to her. Adrenaline flooded her system, beating like it’s trying to escape. It felt as if it would epxplode through all her veins. She wants to run, but she was cornered, body defensive as she looked between the two, but rested her dangerous gaze on the tall man named Joey.

Cristine her skin chilled all at once, and her midsection weakens, when she realized what can happen. Four eyes shimmered with a dirty and foul emotion and she knew she’d have to prepare for the worst.

“Where you from doll?”

“…”

“You look clean, means you have a place not far from here…” Joey repeatedly ran his tongue over his face and rubbed the spot on his jaw where she’d hit him. “If you take me and pal Dan to this place and patch me up, we can let bygones be bygones.”

“…”

Cristine didn't know where to look, what to do. Her body wanted to either bolt for the safety of the woods between the dead or take her chances with her fists. There is only one thing she can do: pray fucking Willy comes to save her. But with every passing second, her hope dies down and Cristine felt the hotness in the back of her eyes.

"_Fuck!" _

She wanted to take one great leap and run. Joey shifted and Cristine clenched her fists, making the man pause and gauge her. Amusement flickered through his eyes when he saw her stance and he shared a look with his skinny friend Dan.

“We ain’t no bad guys doll. But these are hard times and we can help… in return for that we can do a little… trade.” Joey’s eyes roamed up and down her body.

"Go to hell." Cristine her adrenaline surges so fast she almost vomited, the saliva thickened in her throat and beads of sweat trickled down her brow. 

“We don’t have time to spare Joey… just tie the bitch up and let’s wait for Ben.” Dan’s words gave her a flicker of hope, but that was quickly smashed down by the perverse behavior of his partner.

“Nah,” Joey shook his head and tugged at the loops of his jeans and rolled his shoulders; fully relaxed and having made his decision. “We ain’t gonna find shit or a place to rest and this bitch isn’t gonna talk, are ya doll?” He asked rhetorically and deadpanned, “‘sides, it’s been a while since we had some fresh piece of ass… and I want to call dibs for fucking once.”

A tidal wave of desire carried Joey off on its roaring currents. The woman was stubborn and packed a punch, but she was still weaker and smaller than him. He stillbhad to hit her a few times, but once she was down, he barked at Dan to hold her hands, Joey fumbled with the buckles of his pants to seek his release.

Cristine thrashed in a frenzy, face pounding and body throbbing from all those merciless kicks and punches. None of her retaliations and yelling registered to either men. She violently thrust her legs, but it only managed to anger the man above her.

"Dumb bitch!"

The force of that backhanded slap to her cheek was sharp, the blow strong enough to jerk her face harshly into the splintered wood. It was all anger and carnal lust for this animal.

“Stop! I’ll tell you what you want! Please!” Cristine distant voice pleads, the body under him stiffened and trembled like a child.

Joey smirked. He knew she wanted him deep down. She was just playing hard to get, like all these bitches do. She secretly wanted this, despite what she’s begging. So, Joey didn't listen to his pleas and only motions and his partner to keep her down.

Cristine was momentarily frozen and stock still when she heard the buckle of his pants and then felt those sweaty hands on her pants.

Her body was numb to the harsh scratching of the calloused hands that held both her wrists at bay while the man tried to mount her. She couldn't move, as if her bodily functions cemented into a paralyzing fear...

While her instincts were raging, Cristine's body stayed completely frozen. She simply stared at Joey with a listless gaze, ignoring the men's heavy and sweaty presences. At this moment, she momentarily lapsed back in the crevice of her psyche where she was safe.

No one there to hurt, manipulate or ridicule her.

This duo would most likely kill her after both had their turn. Or maybe do a lot worse and claim her as theirs... to vent whatever stress and tension it was they had.

The edges of her eyes darkened, but after a blink, her jet black pupils dilated against the rich dark brown of her iris. Joey was in her face and his beady eyes twinkled dangerously.

"Don't go weak kneed on me now doll, I haven't even put it in yet. These damn pants of yours are too tight," he complained as he struggled with the button.

**POP! **

A sound that startled all three- an opening!

"What the fuck!?" Joey twisted his neck toward the door.

A moment of weakness, a slip up from her assaulter, but one Cristine sunk her teeth into with the inch of her life.

Quite literally.

Joey was distracted for one second, still bend over her body. Cristine startled him by locking her legs around his waist and gnawed into his flesh. She tore through the man's throat, tightened her jaw and roughly jerked her head back, slamming it hard into the wood. She felt warm liquid shower her face before spitting out the mouthful of raw meat, blood and tissue.

The sturdy body slackened and fell on top of her and momentarily immobilized her. Her wide eyes, rushed in a panic as she looked for a weapon.

Luckily, the hand that gripped her wrist loosened out of fright. She quickly slipped her arm between her chest and the half gurgling man. She used most, if not all of her strength to thrust him off of her.

"D-don't move ya dumb bitch!" Ignoring the yell and ringing in her ears, Cristine growled and charged for the man's lower and weaker body half. He was as skinny as her and lost in terms of body strength.

"No wait! I didn't mean-"

Her body worked quicker than her mind as her fingers gripped the distinct craftmanship of a hunting knife's hilt. In the next instant her arm moved in fluidly swift motions. Splatters of blood spurted on her bruised face as she repeated the downward transfixed motion with the dagger. Sometimes the blade got stuck in something hard, but then Cristine gripped the worn out leather jacket, using it as some type of support, and began to arduously slide the metal through muscles and tissue. 

As if she was struggling to cut open a sturdy pack of meat.

With that out of the way, she stabbed, stabbed, stabbed, and stabbed some more until the wet, sloshing noises mixed with her labored breaths could be heard.

Cristine had every purpose to kill this man, but during the deed her mind was completely blank. She didn’t know how much time passed, but the numbness in her arm slowed down the velocity and ferocity of her attacks. A low breath escaped her mouth, tingling her sense of sound and unfiltered the dull background noises and it’s range of voices.

"-out of it…"

"..J…sus.."

"…the… scout… Ranch…"

"Have to… her…."

"-Cristine…"

"Shoot…. Turn."

"….Call… know…to do.."

"…animals…"

"Crist…"

"-not… respo-"

"…cloth…get…"

"Don't touch her." A sharp voice coldly ordered.

"….shock… end… up..

"But her…. -leave her like that…"

"Cri-… Tr-… do…"

"Give her some damn space!" The person hollered, his rage clear.

The dark spots at the edges of her eyes finally dimmed and Cristine blinked. While still not in the right state of mind, her body began to feel tingly. Feeling as if she finally could breathe for oxygen after being suffocated, her mouth repeatedly opened and closed.

Then she remembered!

Cristine's head whipped in the direction of her first assaulter that had done the actual deed. She saw him on his side, crawling over the floor like the roach that he was with his pants down and clutching at his throat for dear life.

Clenching her teeth, Cristine gripped the knife and turned her back to the stunned crowd and their leader. She kicked the bleeding pig onto his back and narrowed her heated gaze when he pleadingly looked at her and gurgled nonsense at her.

"Prl..eash- murshy-" Cristine wordlessly swaggered down to her knees and trailed her eyes down the length of his torso. She looked at the weapon in her left hand and tapped her index finger on the edge, as if she tested its sharpness, her expression exaggerated by the blood and dark shadows around her eyes.

"You screwed up." Though rust had set in on the handle and blade it was strong and jagged - more than enough. Cristine planned the man's suffering demise, she could already see him in a pool of darkening blood, dead but not yet dead. Stretching her right arm, Cristine gripped his hair tightly, similarly to how he had done agonizing minutes ago and plunged the blade deep into his stomach.

A watery scream tore from his torn throat.

"Hey we can still-" Willy wanted to say use the man for intel, but couldn't as their leader stopped him with a firm, but simple order.

"Leave it. It's her right." Troy raised his fist, a signal for his men to stand down and give the woman her justice to kill.

And kill she did.

He glowered at the mutilated corpse at his feet and flickered his eyes up at the agonizing sound of a gurgling wail that resembled a child.

The knife met flesh, soft and pudgy, and made a satisfying squish as the tip of the blade sank deep enough to make her victim scream. Cristine twisted the blade in her hand, all the while sinking it deeper and deeper. The man's legs spasmed sporadically over the wood and he even tried to claw at his killer. Under normal circumstances, if he hadn't lost this much blood, he would've easily overpowered her, but she simply shifted on her knees, tilted her head sideward to avoid his hands and slammed his head onto the surface, stunning him.

Troy breathed deeply when her soaking red hand slowly changed the angle of the embedded blade, experimentally rotated the knife through his guts before the sound of muscles and nerves being gouged grew louder in the musky cabin. The knife slide up vertically, starting just below his navel all the way up to his chest. It was strenuous, as the skin and flesh was sturdy. She deliberately looked in his eyes, wanting to see him die with the eternal regret of crossing her.

Cristine shook from anger, an adrenaline rush and then swiftly pulled out the deadly weapon and repeatedly stabbed him in the chest and neck. Dark blood liquid oozed from the deep cuts in his skin, like an emptied water balloon filled with dozens of holes. She wanted to create as much of those punctures as she physically could. The quick replay of a tubby squashing from the echoing stabs started slow and quickened in speed. Cristine saw the light inside his half open eyes fade together with the struggling, signaling his death.

Doing more than this was just a waste of energy, but through her haze, she replayed the exact same vigor during the transfixion. The power of the blow made his body twitch back and forth as if he were still alive and struggling.

He wasn't.

She deliberately didn't mutilate his skull, wanting to deny him the mercy he so desperately begged her and the peace of a permanent death. Like before, she wasn't sure how long she'd been stabbing, but at one point it became tiresome and Cristine flung the rusty knife in a corner of the room. Panting, she sat on her knees, wiping her face only to cuss from smearing out blood on her cheek. Afterward she roughly rubbed her soaked hands on her upper legs, staining her denim pants.

She stared at the wall for a while. Her mind empty, body drained and emotions switched off. Her face stayed slack, while her shoulders and chest slowly moved from catching her breath.

"He'll turn soon." Cristine momentarily shut her eyes, as if doing that would make him go away. She clinched her teeth in annoyance. "You might want to finish that up."

Nothing left her mouth and Cristine looked to her left and saw Troy slowly bend through his hunches. Darkened blue eyes peeped at her after assessing the gutted and rigorously stabbed body between them.

He didn't say anything after that and Cristine glared over her shoulder at the quartet, pointedly looking at Willy who had the tightest expression of them all. Cristine clicked her tongue, tasting a full mouth of blood and spit to the side before she wiped her mouth and clenched her fingers into fists.

Troy didn't miss the dangerous shift in demeanor and narrowed his eyes over her damaged face, mixed with bits of her own red body fluid, but more so smudged with that of her victims. Her mouth was drenched with blood too, which he soon discovered belonged to the gutted, half naked assaulter with the torn throat. The injury didn't belong to a knife, but a bite and it didn't take long for the rest to put two and two together.

"Jesus, did you bite his fucking throat open!?"

"Mike." Troy zeroed in on his best friend, shaking his head and spat, "drop it." His voice was low before he made eye contact with the woman for the first time. He looked at her.

He'd definitely underestimated how far she would go to kill another person. Troy didn't think she was capable of this, but she readily defended herself with the assets she could use as a weapon. She actually used her teeth before she gutted, stabbed and cleaved in a frenzy, purely to vent.

There was nothing more to what she just did. She could have finished it swiftly but put on that show.

Even when he arrived as the last person, Cristine kept using the knife to its full capability to mutilate the embodiments of what were now just unevenly heaps of cut and slaughtered meat. Similarly to his squad, Troy froze and he became transfixed with the way she killed in such a feverish passion. It was hair-raising, hideous but also so pristinely humane and stunning to him.

She had completely flipped the roles of prey and hunter. Feeling his throat dry up and mind burst with fascination, Troy quickly suppressed his unnaturally dark thoughts. Now wasn't the time and place to admire her accomplishments. She was still a victim of something horrendous that went against his code.

Troy traveled his fixed stare from her eyes, all the blood and her slightly quivering fists. Cristine was still in a daze and her expressionless face showed her state of mind.

She was still ruffled and would probably fully come to at one point. It wasn't hard for him to spot someone close to the edge. And while Troy wanted to see how long it would take for her to snap out of her daze, he felt it more appropriate to give her space.

But first, Mike, Coop and Willy had to leave before she'd lash out at one of them. He'd seen the way she glared at them and she was alone inside this room surrounded by the same gendered species that put her in this state to begin with.

At this point it was just inappropriate, wrong and perverse of them all to stay here.

They weren't savages.

"Everyone out."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did y'all catch the homage to savage Rick in this chapter?


	10. Chapter 10

Cristine her heart thumped. She could hear blood passing through her ears - thump, thump, thump—and looking down saw her red coated chest moving up and down. She even tasted textured meat that was never meant to be chewed on by a human.

She noticed how her dirty hands shook around her upper legs and inhaled. Her vision became blurry when she looked at the calm Troy.

Suddenly, she was hot and sweaty, so hot and sweaty that she wanted to run. But as soon as she tried to stand it left her body unsteady. The trembling traveled down into her legs and hips, leaving her shaky. She felt weak, as if everything just drained out of her. Yet, her heart seemed to pound even faster, even harder. She tried taking a deep breath to calm herself, but her inhales were sharp and shallow. Her vision went darker and narrow again, like a kaleidoscope.

"Breathe," Troy calmly said. "You did good," he earnestly complimented.

"Go to hell." Her eyes burned and Cristine looked away and blew out a puff of air. She grit her teeth, until blood trailed down her lip, like she wanted to cuss more and the muscles in her face cramped together.

"Hold your breath for four seconds… come on I know you can do it. Even if you don't want me to, I'll be here." Troy reassured her in a soft voice and slowly closed the distance.

"Don't," she warned him.

He raised both his arms up. "Alright. Alright. I won't come closer, but in return you have to listen to what I say… Can you do that for me?"

"…I" Finding it harder to talk, Cristine nodded in the end, as the pain in her lungs turned agonizingly sharp.

"Hold your breath for four seconds…"

Cristine almost choked on the air when she did, but Troy's collected gaze felt like a lifeline she could latch onto. Those four seconds lasted for what felt like an eternity to her.

"You're doing great, now breathe out for four seconds." Cristine pursed her lips and exhaled the air stuck inside her lungs. "Breathe in, breath out. Just give yourself the time and space, don't rush it."

It helped that he regulated his breath with her and soon enough the tightness in her chest separated itself from her lungs, liberating her. It was her and Troy catching their breaths, until it all went deadly still.

They had a silent conversation as they stared into each other's eyes. She finally looked away, tears threatening to blur her vision, but never leaving her tear ducts.

Troy probingly asked a simple question, "you want to clean up?"

"No," Cristine answered swiftly. "Let's just finish for whatever we came for and go."

With a sideward tilt of the head, Troy chewed on his lower lip and said, "I guess this is on me too, since you didn't have all the adequate means to defend yourself." His body perked and Troy removed his riffle, not missing how she tensed. He was careful to unclip it from around him and looked in her eyes. Assuring her he wouldn't do anything unexpected.

"Here." He gave it to her, not sure if Cristine accepted this as an apology or not. More weapons would certainly help with feeling safer.

Cristine eyes quickly flicked at the rifle and took it. Feeling that she could ask more she added, "and my machete."

Troy's lips twitched almost as if fighting back a smile, but conceded, "and your machete. You need to clean up though, the blood will draw the dead."

Troy gestured at the corpse between them, his expressions impassive. "You also need to deal with that." He pointed out emotionleas as if talking about discarding garbage.

"No, he doesn't deserve it." Cristine shook her head and didn't give in to his badgering. She didn't want to honor her humanity by giving her almost rapist the peace of a permanent death.

"That's just spiteful."

She shrugged, her voice steady. "He has his friend over there to feast on when he comes back. He won't go hungry. I didn't waste all my energy just for him not to turn."

Troy furrowed his brow and thought about her words. This sick and twisted reasoning would send shivers up one's spine. Her argument unexpected was based on high running emotions rather than her usual rationality. In the end Cristine simply wanted to see him turn out of selfish payback.

Looking at his watch, Troy felt his hesitance slowly disappear. "Well, if you're going to wait…" He unhooked the wounded watch and compass from his wrist and offered it. An amused smile crept on his face from the tightening of her jaw and the knit between her eyebrows. "You might as well time it. I think it was 15.05 when he died. It's been ten minutes now."

When Cristine met his gaze, it was as if he tried to gauge her response. The icy blueness generated a feeling like she was being pulled into a lake of foul thoughts. It was like all the available shades of blue swirled together and blended into a color of pure wickedness. She could tell by his body language that this was more for himself, and those flickering azure orbs confirmed her thoughts.

He looked in a manner that was normal on the surface, but full of darkness. "I won't record it in my journal. This can stay between us. It's just that, he has the same build as me, just a older though. I'm sure you want to have a reference of how long it'll take me to spoil." Troy's sharp eyes weren't heavy or blunt, just apparent and each glance radiated the mischief within.

He was genuine with his remark.

Cristine swiped the watch from his hand. "Get the hell out," she said in a dangerously low voice, her bloody appearance gave her a more uncouth air.

With a tilt of the head, Troy paused and covered his bared teeth with a closed lip smile. He sighed and patted the top of his military pants before shuffling to his feet. Looking down at her and then the mesh of human tissue and gore, he said, "there's a creek nearby that you can use to clean yourself up and a spare vest in the truck. The guys and I will be waiting outside."

-

After thirty minutes or so, Troy finally exited the cabin by himself. He didn’t give his men the chance to ask him questions and immediately bulldozed them with orders. "No one says shit to her. Don't try to lighten the mood, don't comfort her and don't touch her."

Their silence was confirmation to their adherence of his straightforward commands. That, and the fact that he was poor pissed and it showed in his gait and the darkness of his gaze. After he told them what not to do, Troy asked them what they did in the meantime.

"Did you scout the place, find anything or anyone else?" He questioned.

Mike, looking sickly pale as hell, had puked minutes before. Just the image in there was enough to make his nerves clamp together.

Being the one who knew Troy the best ans longest, Mike could gauge the mood od hus childhood friend best. "It looked to be just two of them. Their truck was parked in the woods and barely gassed up. Probably just wanderers. "

"We need to be sure." Troy shook his head, not convinced that this was just a duo. "People like that usually move around in smaller groups until they converge. They had to have some form of contact."

Blake pointed at his cabin with a tilt of his chin and asked Troy, "she say anything about more people?" 

"I'll ask later, let's make sure we secure everything first. Blake you stay here, watch her. Make sure she doesn't wander off."

"Got it."

-

They laid there like butchered animals in a waste of blood… the first one had his pants off, the blood still seeping from the dozen of stab wounds. The second one she couldn't even piece together, but the face was mutilated with tissue and vessels severed, sticking out like crumpled pipes through clotted blood.

She stayed in the cabin until there was an inhuman groan, clattering of teeth and saw her rapist return from the dead as the fitting monster that he was. She looked at the watch and with a sigh shook her head.

Ninety-one minutes.

"Fuck." She didn't even know why she took the watch or actually stayed here to do that, but she allowed herself to get dragged in by Troy's twisted game.

The sharp pain on her face and body would stay as a reminder for a few days. It was humiliating and sickened her to the stomach. Cristine didn't want to go out and regroup, they would either act like nothing happened or try to act all delicate and careful with her. Knowing Troy, he most likely ordered them to do the first.

On the other hand, staying here would only give them more reason to act like a presence of amenity for her distraught mind. Cristine didn't want that either and quickly gasped three times, steeled her emotions and burst through the door.

She was prepared for the acting, but luckily only Blake was left behind. Cristine's dusky eyes veered from side to side and puzzled asked the young man the obvious question.

"The rest went to scout to the area. Troy thinks it might be a small group. We'll meet up with them in ten."

Cristine's didn't respond, much to his relief as he wasn't used dealing with… this. "Uh, you should clean up," Blake said

Cristine stared blankly at the cool water running through her hands. She saw her shaky reflection, the red on her face and the chaotic look inside her eyes. She scrubbed her hands, threw water over her bare skin and even dunked her face into the small stream to wash clean herself.

Cristine sensed Blake's presence, either to watch for any abnormalities in the area or her pathetic self. The water was nice, but stroking the weapons at her side, made her fully come back to her senses before she finally got up. When she looked over her shoulder, Blake shifted on his feet but didn't say a word to her.

Cristine scoffed, as if amused by an inside joke and walked past him with a shake of the head, "I don't usually bite, so stop acting like I'm gonna chew on you."

She had thought about it though. Take him out, take a vehicle and leave. The only thing holding her back was her family and the fact that she was sure there was still one person around. The hefty fog in her mind started to lift and Cristine vaguely remembered those pigs mention a name.

Ben.

"The rest went around that way. Coop thought he saw some fresh tracks. Let's go."

-

Cristine and Blake rejoined the quartet quickly after. They patiently waited for Coop to mask out the trail in the woods. Their conversation was hushed, Mike and Willy looked around with his rifle up in his arms.

"Yeah... asshole must've been spooked. Made a run for it that way," Coop said more to himself as he concluded the direction of the third assailant and pointed forward. He raised his head to look up at Troy and scratched his beard.

"He has a thirty minute headstart give or take."

Troy nodded, he was a tracker himself and glanced at the path Coop pointed at. He wrapped his hands around the sleeveless opening of his tactical vest and wet his lips.

"I doubt he knows the area, they came from the road and mapped out these woods to do some hunting," he thought out loud and thinking of something else looked at Cristine and asked, "any clues?"

Cristine glowered, "they're in a group. Don't know how many, but they made it sound like they've been around. Taking supplies and maybe even people. One was complaining about wanting to find a place to settle down and bring me to their boss." She whisked Troy's watch from her pocket and gave it to him.

"How's the signal around here?" Cristine asked

Troy swiped the object from her hand, fastening it around his right wrist and with a faint shrug answered, "not the best. Reason we don't wander around here separated. Why?"

"Third one probably has a radio with him." The new information shed light to the situation. Even Cristine nervously rubbed her palms on pants.

"Great," Willy grumbled and roughly rubbed his hand through his hair. "If he calls his group we lose our advantage here." He fought back the urge to snap at Cristine. Her callous stare made him swallow the lump inside this throat and the strawberry blonde pointedly looked at their leader.

The exchange didn't go unnoticed by Troy, but he pushed that to the back of his mind. "Nah, he must be some miles away from his camp. Asshole is scared and needs his truck first. They only had one gun and barely packed any ammo."

Cristine chewed on her lip, slipped her fingers in the loop of her belt and fought the wince from her throbbing face. The only certainty were these tracks and either Troy or Willy could be right.

"Are there a lot of animals in that direction?" She looked at Coop.

"Relatively. This place was meant to be a wildlife reserve. It's where we hunt sometimes." Coop answered positively and wiped his pants clean from the dirt.

"So there's probably a number of infected around too." Where there was fresh meat, there was the dead. That was something Cristine could be sure of.

Troy's eyes lit up and the gears inside his head began to turn. "Meat for the wasted."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you guys think?


	11. Chapter 11

The search was shrouded in silence, the minimal of communication done through hand and head gestures. Cristine walked a few paces behind Troy and Cooper through the deserted woodland. The two were the trackers, so it was only logical they lead.

Occasionally, the group paused on Troy's signal and the sound of their own footfalls fell silent. All that could be heard was the faint susurration of the leaves in the gusty wind.

Looking up, Cristine was transfixed by the bundle of fluttering leaves that danced in the high boughs, making a living roof above them. But she neither calmed or hypnotized by the scenery. In fact, the longer she stared the more the leaves looked like eyes staring back at her and the branches seemed to draw closer like arms, blocking the view as if they were forming a cage.

Cristine's knuckles tightened around the rifle. It felt like her frazzled nerves wanted to jump out all at once. But then the aches in her body brought her back to the real world and even seemed to sharpen her dwindled focus.

Thick trees flanked them from every angle. While it gave the group of six something of a security, it hindered the visibility too.

Footsteps cracked through the twigs on the forest floor. Four out of six riffles turned in sync in the direction of the sound. Cristine narrowed her gaze and winced at the position she had to maintain to keep her weapon up. She saw Troy turn. Looked into her eyes, but it was brief as he glanced at the rest.

He made a simple hand signal.

_Groups of two and surround._

Cristine carefully slithered around in a half arc, met with Blake and gave her a nod. She followed him, passed Mike and Willy as the pair settled at a nearby tree, just around the shrubbery they heard the sound from. Cristine pressed the side of her body into tree bark and took her pose: arms raised, weapon close, and vision locked.

Cristine squinted. A lump bobbed in her throat. She exhaled just once. The rest took their positions. Waited like hunters ready to pounce on their prey.

Cooper looked at Troy for approval. For him to give him the go. For a moment it looked like Troy was trying to peak through the trees and shrubs. By now he was used to the mantle of responsibility. Been that way since the world collapsed two months ago. Really, it was impossible to believe it'd only been two months since the dead started walking.

The same sound cracked through the trees.

Troy gave Cooper the okay with a silent nod.

Cooper walked through and Troy followed. His grip on the semi-automatic in his hands. Not only was he one of the best shooters - a handy advantage in the post-apocalyptic world - he learned to survive when he was younger, hunt by himself in his teens with the Ranch as his playground. A world like now was sort of his natural habitat.

For once, everyone else had to sprint to keep up with him.

The two waded away from the four. Crunched through fallen twigs and leaves. Troy glanced at the rear view of Coop, and saw the quick flurry of clothes and a body.

"Come out asshole," Cooper ordered and cocked his gun, having seen the same as Troy.

The bushes rustled and everyone instinctively pulled off the safety, the life and death sounds almost in tune.

The scuttling noises cease. Cooper raised his gun as the person left its hiding spot.

Two sluggish movements - a body shot across Coop's sight line: greyed out skin, nickel eyes and half-chewed up face that stumbled to the barrel of Coop's gun.

It took a second to register it in their heightened senses - the dead darting out of its leisure and scurrying out across the thicket and towards a potential fresh meal. Plucking out his hunting blade, the pointy end came down hard, fully embedded the cranium, dried up brains.

Cristine sucked out her breath and made an annoying sound with her mouth when Coop put the infected down. Rather disappointed, she lowered her gun and her mood worsened after that needless display.

"False alarm ladies," Coop joked, waving his bloody knife in the air before cleaning it on the infected's faded clothes. "This one's been dead for a bit, so unfortunately it isn't our guy."

Cristine tuned out the back and forth 'shut ups' and 'pussies' that got thrown around. Massaging her shoulders with her palm, which also hurt by just moving, a flicker of silver next to her boots caught Cristine's eyes. With her brow furrowed, she quickly reached to uncover what it was and the soft chime revealed it to be a pair of keys.

Cautiously, Cristine looked around the area for inconsistencies, for a silhouette in the bushes that waited for them to leave. She gambled that the keys she had in her hand, were lost when this man Ben fled the scene.

He knew they were here in the woods. Probably having seen them near the cabin, all geared up with their heavy weapons and in military fatigues. The expression on Cristine her face was severe and if this coward was still watching them, in search of his keys, surely the look she currently wore would have scared him off.

She was out for blood.

-

"We're not savages Gerrard, come sit with us." It took all of Blake's legs not to turn just as quickly as when he decided to approach the tense woman.

The glower she send him was stormy, exaggerated by literal battle wounds on her face. Still, he saw how deliberate and slow she was when unpacking her stuff and moving around the camp. She was in a hell of a pain and it didn't 't leave much to the imagination of the physical blows the rest of her body suffered. Blake's eyes remained trained on Cristine after she realized her scowl wouldn't make him leave and used her next tactic: ignoring his presence.

This whole damn trip started awkward; especially for the guys. A new face they more than often baited for better or worse for shit and giggles. After came _that_ particular night when they did their first experiment, Troy wanted to give her a lesson too.

It worked. She finally stopped fighting and used all that energy to share her knowledge about the infected, the ways to use it all to their advantage and even go as far as help them redirect their first ever 'horde'. It was a small one, but with the right coordination, that thing went north of the place, completely bypassing the Ranch. With that, their policies got stricter, their militia grew and the place slowly turned into a true Apocalyptic stronghold.

They didn't trouble her as much. Tended to leave her alone on the Ranch itself and remain cordial in a sense. So when Troy said that she 'volunteered' for this run, it came as a complete surprise for Blake and the guys.

With that; most of them knew that their leader had given her his respect. He'd seen something they hadn't, which was why he said to give her a chance and prove she'd earn her keep among the militia.

_"She's definitely earned it after today."_ It was a cliche, but Blake did feel some remorse when he watched her minding her own business. Injured and uncomfortable, but trying to hide it.

Every now and then, Blake considered to say something, but he didn't. Blake figured anything would piss her off and while it would probably be best to let it ride, let her work through it, he didn't believe she was as unfazed as she made herself look.

Hence, why he asked her to come and sit with them.

"I can take over your shift if you want," the rustling stopped and Blake inwardly winced when Cristine dumped her bag and closed the distance and got in his face.

"No, no, I don't _want_ anything from you. I'll do my damn shift like I inteded to do..." Cristine glowers at him with her bruised eye flaring.

"Look... I'm not doing this because of what happened-"

"What happened," she says without a trace of nerves or fear, just focused rage, "is that I handled my shit while you all watched. Now you treat me like I'm either some damn china set or gonna shoot you in the face. Trust me, you're not worth it."

"So let's get things straight." Her voice is steady and flatlined of emotion. "I don't care if any of you look at me like I earned my special place in your little group, because I killed that garbage back there."

Blake still opened his mouth, hesitant, but spoke, "I know and you're a badass, we all think you are. It's just that we'll be out here until we get a solid lead. Your injuries can get infected if they're not properly treated."

Cristine's mouth dropped in disbelief. She didn't want Blake's pity or his fucking concern! It was bad enough they found her like that, out of control, at her most fragile and weakest point on the verge of a panic attack.

"Did you guys make a bet or anything?" She asked out of the blue and in a biting tone. Her eyes darted in the direction of the camp where Troy and Cooper sat, gaze resting on their leader in particular.

"What?"

"Screw me over again once I let my guard down?" Perhaps to Blake Cristine began to sound paranoid with these questions that didn't make any sense, but it couldn't spin through her head why they were acting civil.

There were some things Cristine knew for certain when it came to Troy and his militia: they couldn't be fullu trusted. Anything they wanted, they took by force with threats and sheer intimidation. Why would they do anything out of the goodness of their hearts? She was in this damn mess because she went with them.

"Stay the hell away from me!" Her sudden yell shatters the stillness, loud enough to not only catch the other's attention, but probably any dead in the near vicinity. Feeling the heat in the back of her eyes, Cristine released a shaky exhale before she left an equally surprised Blake behind.

_"Think of something else."_ Cristine hadn't discarded her riffle, knife or machete from her body. Touching them didn't give her as much distraction as when she first got them back. She felt much safer with them, but it didn't manage to push down the image of that sweaty body, those clawing hands, and the iron on her tongue.

Rubbing her face harshly with the end of her jacket sleeves, Cristine filled her mind with the most random and menial thing to divert her strangling thoughts.

Anything to catch her from plunging into the madness.

_"Viruses have several life cycles. They attach to the host via certain proteins on a the cell surface. Proteins are generally receptors that target the cell. Once bound, the virus enters the cell through fusion or endocytosis."_

Cristine never registered the sharp slaps of the low hanging branches on her face. If there was a path, she didn't see it, so instead she wound her way through the skinny trunks. In some they were thickly clumped together she had to take another route.

Up ahead, a few shabby, cadaverous infected cluster in an open area, their lopsided heads like dolls who had their necks twisted back on from being broken. They looked like they were waiting for something that would never come to their rescue.

Cristine knew what she had to do. She twisted her rifle on her back before sliding the machete from her right leg. She took a deep breath, and then went to group, thirsting for blood.

-

"The hell did you say to her Blake?" The icy dark blue gave off a feeling like he was about to be punished for the worst crime in history.

Blake stood at attention, it was just something that came to him in reflex. In particular when in the presence of Troy. Sure, they were friends and all, but he was someone that lead them through the tough times and made the tough calls.

Blake briefly looked away from the hard and steadfast gaze of Troy. "I just thought she needed-"

"Thought she needed what? Your pity?" Troy's guess was on point when Blake lowered his head like a child getting scolded. "I told you not to say shit to her. You really think she wants something from any of us? Like, right _now_?"

The question was rhetorical, but Blake's answer sounded like some bad joke, "she's clearly in no state for guard duty with those injuries."

"What exactly did you say to her?" In the meantime, Troy checked his weapons with a pissed off expression. Because of Blake's so called good intentions, he had to go out and search for her. He didn't see her as some weak victim. She wasn't and would never be that in his eyes. Not with the way she killed those men. Not how she so quickly came to herself after it all.

Cristine was stronger than that.

"I offered to take over her watch... and that she needed to rest with those injuries."

Troy heard Blake, rolled his eyes with a scoff. "And you're surprised she left the way she did? She's out for blood, if you haven't noticed. What she needs is focus and you broke it."

"So I'm the only that thinks she'll shoot any of us on sight? You seen how she's looking at Willy?" Blake asked in disbelief.

It was strange for Blake to hear how Troy talked as if he understood Cristine to T. He saw someone that would kill all their asses on sight if the wrong words were said.

"I'll deal with what happened between them when I hear both sides of the story. Now, I need to clean up after you because you couldn't keep yout big mouth shut." Troy did a last check of his arsenal before he walking past Blake.

"Coop you're on patrol with Blake now instead of Gerrard," he said over his shoulder.

"Got it." Cooper shot Blake a 'dude, what the hell?' look after Troy's tall silhouette disappeared into the night.

-

The dead had no learning capacity. Even the dumbest of animals fled when faced with imminent death. Panting, Cristine swung her curved blade with stark precision, adapted when it got stuck in one's cranium by kicking into the rest like bowling pins.

Cristine was literally cutting a swath through this small pack that was dense enough it left the soil slick from the blood as thick as motor oil.

She was able to maneuver with the most minimal movements. Near the packed thin trees, the dead tried to squeeze through the trees all at once, and she picked more than a few. The viscera and blood spewed and streaked across, coating her in red, again and again, with each permanent blow to the brain.

It was dark, but the human tissue would have left behind a palette of all colors imaginable for whoever would find this the next morning.

It was a different kind of beautiful to Cristine.

The repititive flashes of ripped flesh, organs and human matter was eerily recognizable. Even with all of them down and the growling stopped, Cristine wielded her machete with two hands and brought it down without stopping.

Cristine didn't take time to glimpse at the dead after dead face. She was in some zone, not in any woods, somewhere else, somewhere dirty. Doing dirty things, fully detached from the world. Not because of today, the Ranch, the militia, Troy or her anyone else.

Cristine was _among_ the filth, among the monsters and she was going to make it through like she always had to; no matter how fucked up she had to become or what dirty things she needed to do. Even if she had to tear down this entire world.

Whatever Cristine hacked down had turned to tiny pieces and even tinier pieces. Eventually, pain bulldozed her body. Her arms and legs stung when standing up straight. A chain of breathless pants leave her mouth and for a moment Cristine looked almost crestfallen, absolutely disappointed that her ire hadn't died down.

Rustling leaves.

An instant later, Cristine raised the pointy, dripping end in the direction of the source. "Step into the light or I'll cut you."

"Woah, woah, easy there." Troy stepped out the bushes and the darkness gave way to a beam of flashlight. He shone a light on her and looked briefly stunned to see the piled mush behind her and flicked it in the direction of the unrecognizable filth and her.

Cristine lowered her machete after a while and was about to walk away.

"We patrol that side of camp Gerrard, so finish up and let's go."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? I love reading your comments


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in a row! Was on fire! As always, do comment, vote, and share my story with others. That would be greatly appreciated. And don't forget to read the explanation in my end note

"You got some on your face." Troy pointed at the area of his cheek to show where Cristine's face was caked with blood and bits from the dead. Taking out a handkerchief from his pocket, he offered it so she could wipe her face.

Cristine sat on the trunk, the slick machete etched into the dirt. After silent deliberation of looking at the outstretched cloth dangling in front of her, she took the extended handkerchief from Troy's hand. Extending her legs, Cristine's boots made a dry and scratchy sound over the dirt.

While Cristine concentrated on cleaning herself, Troy stared her up and down with curiosity. His mind was back on the rage of her venting session. He wanted to ask what was truly on her mind, then realized he'd probably bring back up the event everyone tiptoed around. But as usual, Troy his curiosity outweighed his ability to read the current mood.

"I get why you left," he said, "when you're focused, ready to take on the assholes, until some idiot pulls you from it." The cloth moved from the hands and fingers to the neck and face.

Usually whenever Troy conversed with Cristine, it showed as clear as a scowl, a frown, as faint as a twitch at the edge of her lips, or grind of her teeth. But in this moment, Cristine was fully immersed on the menial task, as if the simple action would bring her back into that same focus.

It wasn't the first time he'd seen Cristine come to herself so quickly. That night he and the guys took her with them and sat with him in the truck came to mind. When she said to him that the world was nothing but pretend and she often played that same game of pretend with her family. It was crazy she could lash out so quick and fierce, but also calm down at the same time given all the stress her body and mind went through.

"You were right," Cristine admitted.

Troy blinked in his spot on the far end of the bark. It had to register Cristine addressed him. Pitch black eyes peered at him from behind the fallen and clumped curls of her hair, and Troy had the feeling she was trying to look right through his mind.

Never breaking eye contact and voice clear, Cristine explained, "when you talked about there being no rules or lines to cross... we need to kill these people."

Troy slowly nodded, it was ironic something bad had to happen for her to fully accept that... Troy was under the impression that Cristine already knew given her experience outside.

"It's not as if I didn't know what you meant. But the way you're justifying it and making excuses for is wrong," Cristine said, frowning.

"We'll agree to disagree on account of those details." Troy visibly shrugged, more curious where she was going with this sudden conversation. It wasn't as if he would go into a moral dilemma. There wasn't room for emotions and in all honesty Troy felt not an ounce of regret over his actions.

Even as Cristine tried to ignore the lack of inflection in Troy's comment, it was hard not to. To hear him so easily disregard the innocent and not so innocent, as if they were just things and not living beings; it was chilling.

"You feel bad for killing those two?" Troy asked with a cock of his head.

"No." Cristine strengthened her answer with a shake of the head and an annoyed expression crossed her face. It quickly died down and shared something she hadn't told anyone at this point. "It made me remember stupid stuff... promises I held on to... promises I made with people that had hope."

"You mean the people you wrote about in your journals?" The shadows melted on Troy's face and defined his half slanted profile.

Cristine pursed her lips together, but it was clear she didn't feel guilty when admitting they were. The majority of the names written were of people she knew and she wanted to remember them and their stories. Cristine remembered the promise she made with her mentor even after hope was lost.

_"I promise I'll find a cure."_ It was the reason she wrote about the people bitten or on the verge of death. Some gave her permission, others wanted the suffering to end, and others just wanted to be left alone.

"We all believed a cure would come and this hell would pass. It didn't... and," Cristine coughed to scratch the lump in her throat. Her hands fumbled with the dirty handkerchief so that she could keep them busy. "Not everyone wanted to accept that it wasn't going to get better. That there wasn't a cure and they couldn't make the hard calls." Back then, Cristine had no way of convincing some of the people otherwise. To open their eyes, trust with caution and make hard calls for the sake of the group.

Then, Cristine first experienced the true horror of people. An illusion of a humanity in a supposedly safe community, where many of her previous group died gruesome deaths. When that happened, Cristine felt the touch of death for the first time and something inside her just snapped.

Like in the cabin.

"Your first kill." It was on the tip of Troy's tongue to ask what's been on his mind since he witnessed the brutality of her kills. Troy wanted to ask Cristine what she _felt_ when committing an act that was seen as sacriligcal for ages and done so easily. Cristine _killed_ so feverishly it even stunned Troy. He'd seen a wide range of her emotions and while most didn't make much sense to him or fit the world as it was now, the Cristine in that cabin fascinated Troy. That _person_ was someone Troy wanted to see more often than whatnot.

Like a kindred spirit.

But before he could vocalize his truth, Troy defensively reigned in his unnaturally dark thoughts and clenched his fist. With the end of the world and him finally having freedom, the unpredictable thing inside him wanted to break from its restrictions. Like a caged cobra.

Troy wasn't going to risk exposing himself by a moment of fascination with the woman next to him. Hell, aside from his family, no one was aware of what he _really_ struggled with. Struggled with since he was a child. All the animals, the rabbits, he... _tested_ with. There was a violent rage in him and Troy wasn't always able to contain it or even understand where it came from.

Jake saw the path he walked saw that Troy couldn't stop or help himself, so his big brother always protected him and helped Troy to contain it. But after Jake went to college, Troy didn't really have anyone to temper it for him. But luckily, the apocalypse made it right for Troy to finally be who he was. The runs, the dead and the people he came across were able to soothe the violent rage inside him and no one blamed him for it.

Troy could be himself with no consequences.

Focusing on Cristine again, a skeptical look crossed Troy's features, shaded by the flickering flames of the low light. "But that's not why we're having this heart to heart moment." Troy tapped on the side of his riffle resting between his legs.

Cristine lashes lifted, eyes of obsidan looking into his blue ones."Like you said; I'm the enduring type- not the rash type. So you need to keep Willy on a leash or I will end him before he knows what hit him." Troy knew that to be a deadly serious promise.

"What did he do?" Troy straightened in his seat, his face took a more severe expression. A tiny part was tempted to ask what she'd do to him. She threatened him not too long ago that she didn't have to kill him with a weapon. She'd do it so discreetly he'd beg for death.

That would be the day.

"He didn't follow protocol and got me in that mess." The fact that Cristine came to him instead of going behind his back was enough for Troy to respect her wishes.

Also, there was a time and place for games and a run wasn't ever it. Not with how the situation turned for the worse. Willy was on his second strike. First, the infected on the Ranch. Now, ignoring rules that kept them safe and prepared for troubles to come.

Today was turning point, which included group dynamics. Sure, Cristine and him would never fully see eye to eye or be the best of friends. But this situation right here was progress and Troy learned a great deal interacting with Cristine in this short amount of time.

"I'll talk to him and make sure to set the record straight once we're back home." Troy assured her in a promising tone, "just know that you earned your place." It was the most genuine thing Troy ever said to Cristine without being taunting or playing their cat and mouse game.

A part of Cristine wanted to tell Troy to shove the appreciation and admiration up his ass. She just naturally bore lasting grudges with people that did her wrong. They hurt her and Cristine needed to hurt them back. But at this point, it was exhausting on her psyche to always fight and argue over every little thing. She wouldn't forget and suddenly start become buddy-buddy, but her tolerance could last longer with them.

Massaging her shoulders for the sheer purpose of easing the pain, she showed her response with a light nod.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter delved a bit into the personal struggles of Troy and Cristine. Didn't plan on it getting dark and creepy, but I like how they're both at the other end of the spectrum.
> 
> Cristine knows what she needs to do, even kill, and won't hesitate to do it. While she's always been a realist and sort of a pessimist, she has difficulty letting the past go (hence her family dynamics) and knows there was always hope in the old world. Now there isn't even a spark of hope and it's just kill or be killed. Most people haven't had to deal with things like this and Cristine is also one of them.
> 
> Troy, on the other hand does have sociopathic and sadistic tendencies (reference to the rabbits and feeling no remorse for killing strangers, whether innocent or not). So instead of comforting Cristine like a normal person would, in Troy's mind he has this idea that while Cristine is different from him, she's also like him. Its sort of selfish to think like this. For Troy it got darker when I highlighted the morbid urges he's been struggling with since his childhood. But overall, Troy is still cautious and careful to fully expose himself to Cristine unless he's sure he can really trust her and feel at ease with her.
> 
> At the end of the day, Cristine is a means to an end for Troy (militia, dead and ranch safety) as harsh and cold as that might sound. To me, until Troy doesn't leave the Ranch and meets other people, he will not develop on an emotional scale to think past forming a true emotional bond with people he doesn't regard as family or a very close friend (like Mike) Also, Troy is engrained with his father's bigoted and biased ideologies to naturally distrust anyone that's not them. 
> 
> I don't want to sugarcoat Troy or any of the character in this story, including my own. Hence this long a/n-rant of mine.


	13. Chapter 13

Cristine looked at her dirty, worn out boots. In the first lights of the morning sun, she took a few painkillers to help with the ache. In the light she carefully raised the ends of her top and winced when detecting the purple welts that would deepen in color over the coming week. Against her sandy brown skin they were grotesque, but luckily no broken bones - that would be a liability.

With a sigh, Cristine lowered her shirt again. Her face hurt too and she was probably walking about looking like she came off worse in a good beating. At least she dispatched the two would be rapists in their ambush. Sucking in another deep breath, Cristine rubbed at the corner of her bruised left eye.

With physical pain and mental restlessness, sleep became a torture. While the others embraced what little rest they could get at night, a few hours at most, Cristine kept herself busy with menial things.

Clean her gun. Sharpen her knife. Stand guard near the perimeter for dead, alive whether animal or human. The nervous energy kept her on edge. The distractions were the ostensible measures Cristine took so she didn't lose focus. The process of keeping her thoughts from wandering difficult. Every once in a while, Cristine has to squeeze her hands into the solidity and safety of the weapons on her. The pain in her palms a sure tactic to center her focus again.

As the sun rose, the air turned warmer and it wasn't until her ears detected the rousing of the rest. It stole Cristine her attention and looking over her shoulder, the guys stirred awake. Through her unblinking stare, their bodies slowly moved in getting up and for a moment Cristine looked absolutely weary.

-

He'd seen them.

They were with six, five men and a woman. Donned in army fattigues and packing heavy guns. He'd camouflage himself with dirt, blood and leaves so that he'd mix with the smell and look of the forest.

He wasn't 100% sure what they were looking for, but if they found him it would most likely be his last day on earth. A thick coat of spit got forced down his throat and biting his lips Ben decided to go back to the cabin.

Hopefully, Joey and Dan were still there... but he doubted it since he heard the gunshot. Something must've happened, something really bad and he connected it to the group in fattigues.

Ben cursed his luck.

He felt like a caged animal. The radio didn't work for jack shit this deep in the forest, he only had a knife and barely knew the terrain. He tried to go deeper into the woods, but it was too much dead to avoid by himself with no gun and barely any food on him.

Ben was alone in these godforsaken woods. Spend the night by himself. Heard the winds shrieking through the leaves and the distant moaning of dead wandering between the trees... all while biding his time alone. He woke up alone and ate what he could forage alone. He tried contacting his group, his older brother Aaron, futilely alone.

As he waited by himself, lost and unsure if he should take the risk of going deeper into the area or try his luck back to the cabin and the truck, a twinge of despair tightened within Ben's stomach.

-

Troy stepped in place with Willy, more so to check on the man than anything else. Something about that deeply lined, sour face puzzling to Troy. If this sort of reaction was made by any of the other guys, Troy would've mistaken Willy's behavior as anger on behalf of Cristine. But for Willy that was far from the case.

Willy rather see the woman gone than anything else. Troy remembered what Cristine said to him last night.

_"He didn't follow protocol and got me in that mess."_

The interaction between Willy and Cristine was different than usual and while the apparent hostility was still there, Troy had the feeling something happened before they found Cristine stabbing two grown men to death and beyond recognizition.

Troy felt a strange sensation building in the back of his head, filling him with an unexpected concern for Willy. "You that worried about this prick?"

"Aren't we all?" Willy retorted sharply, but Troy didn't take it to heart. The redhead was one of the few Troy would label as one of the most loyal men to go above and beyond for their cause.

Similarly to him, Willy found his purpose and goal in post-apoc. In the old, he'd been rejected to serve in the army because of his unhinged anger and conservative views. If it was one thing Willy dreamed of doing it was to fight for their country, but he was labeled inadequate. Instead, foreigners were prioritized over him, took his place and until this day that didn't sit well with Willy.

"We could have questioned the other."

"Guy got his throat ripped out," Troy said with a shrug, still amazed by the tenacity and capability of a person cornered. "Doubt he'd say much of value."

Willy's expression tightened and his blue eyes darted in said person's direction. The bob of his throat moved down when he swallowed and didn't say much after that.

"But you broke protocol Willy. You see something. You call it in and we regroup. What happened?" Troy's question was only audible to them and Willy wiped the moisture from his face and the time it took him to answer was nominal.

"She got ambushed, obviously." Willy's answer sounded as if it was Cristine's fault and Troy silently nudged him to share more details without the bias. "Signal was too bad to call in... We decided to check it out first. Next thing I know she's gone. I thought she upped and left... I looked for her, but I can't track for shit."

Willy didn't look at Troy once, he just kept staring ahead at Cristine's back. His empathy for her was hard to come by despite what had happend. Willy looked almost disappointed that she was still here with them.

"When I went back to find a signal, I heard that gunshot." Everyone present in the woods heard it. Turned out, Blake had missed a deer he and Coop tracked in the area.

Willy scraped his throat, voice a little softer than before, "then I heard sounds coming from the cabin and put two and two together."

Troy nodded and followed Willy's steady gaze when he listened to the story. "She dealt with that shit accordingly," Troy appraised what Cristine had done.

Willy scoffed in spite of himself, "I get why you brought her with us, I do- but she isn't- she's not one of us. We'd be better off if we'd just come with the regular group. The militia grew and she doesn't even want to be here." His jaw moved from side to side, angry with her and this fucked up mess.

"It was my call. You have a problem with that, you come to me." Troy sounded a tad bit defensive. It was more geared to Willy vehemently disagreeing with his decision. He didn't make decisions for the militia just for the fun of it. He did it so they could grow and prosper.

"I know you don't like her, -hell she can be a royal pain in the ass- but she's a fighter and she knows her shit. Besides, if it was any of us back there, it would be with a bullet in the head." Troy didn't want to make light of the cabin situation. But thinking about it logically, it was reality. Those men took Cristine's weapons, but didn't kill her on sight since they were out to rape her. Such a situation wouldn't be the case were it any of them. From the beatings, Cristine put up more than a fight and had looked the devil in the eyes, only to be saved by a crappy gunshot.

Thank god for Blake's timing.

"They just roughed her up." Troy furrowed his brows, Willy's statement snapped him from his thoughts before glancing at him. How did he-

"Her pants were still on," Willy clarified simply as if that gave him ammunition to justify his opinion of not wanting Cristine here. At first glance, it looked like Willy felt guilty, which was odd since Troy wasn't convinced it was solely Willy's fault.

Didn't he just say Cristine was the one that left his sight and got taken by surprise? Cristine on the other hand blamed Willy for getting her in the situation.

This didn't add up.

Troy put that piece of information in the back of his head. Willy was more rattled up than Cristine, more tense than her, which didn't just originate from the fact that they were looking for a guy that belonged to an unknown group.

"It still isn't right what happened. We need to know who we're dealing with it. This a risk for the Ranch, especially given that," Troy gestured at the faintly limping Cristine, "is what they do to women. I already called in that we're staying out longer than planned."

"Let's hope it ends with this asshole and it's not a bigger threat." Willy groused.

-

Troy glanced over his shoulders. The side of the path sloped down to a small creek filled with a shallow stream of clear water. Movement drew his gaze to the far end, where a small pack of infected preyed on an unfortunte deer. The were so invested in the fresh meat, frenzied to satisfy a hunger, the dead didn't notice them skulking several yards away yet.

Coop pointed at scattered twigs and leaves. "No sure way to know for sure, but his tracks are mixed with that of the dead. Seems he's been running from them." His finger moved in an invisible line to visualize the approximate route. He pointed in the direction of the angled slope down to the creek.

Blake looked at the distracted dead covered in animal organs and blood before glancing back at the rest and voiced the thoughts of everyone, "any sign he got caught?"

"There was a brief struggle around here," Coop explained and furrowed his brows. "But I don't see any blood or anything. Seems he got lucky and most likely headed that way with the dead behind his ass."

"He might be unarmed. Explains why he didn't kill any of them." Troy added with a faint shake of the head as he looked at the tracks as well. Dumbass move to walk around without a weapon of any sorts. "He'll eventually tire out from the running or if he's lucky hide long enough to avoid the dead.

The group followed the tracks. As they went deeper into the woods, the dead increased in numbers. It wasn't anything the group couldn't handle, but they couldn't go in too deep and leave their trucks and supplies unarmed.

They trekked maybe a mile and a half before Coop raised his hand and stopped them. "You hear that?" He asks, frowning.

"Hear what?" Mike asked.

"That noise." Coop turned his head to look over his shoulder and listens. The all listened. Coop then cocked his head, shifted on his feet and moved slowly around the rest. He tried to pinpoint the direction from where he heard the sound coming from.

"Sounds like an engine." Cristine hears the faint humming timbre resonate. "Doesn't sound too far away."

"I see some tracks here," Coop said through clenched teeth and unanimously the group continued on in a half sprint. Less than a mile down, the distinct sound amplified in noise and didn't quite sound like the engine of a vehicle.

While continuous in tempo, it didn't seem as if the machine moved. If this was any sort of vehicle and the person who started it wanted to make a run for it, the sound would slowly die down the farther it got. Instead, as the group got closer, the growling motor intensified.

Piecing together the oddity of the situation and possible trap, the six raised their weapons and interchangibly made sure to keep their eyes open for the rear and flanks. As the group moved, the trees lessened in density and after some more paces across the soft soil, there stood a very derelict looking log cabin. It was no more than a hut. It appeared to be closed for at least a decade or more. The signs of decrepit and abandonment clear.

The dissonant sound made sense once it was clear what it was: a rusty looking chainsaw in pretty descent state. Coop turned off the engine and a deep silence that weighed down on your body was felt.

In the meantime, Willy and Mike checked the inside of the cabin and Blake and Cristine the adjacent bushes.

"Asshole is trying to pull us deeper in the forest... sound's gonna attract every corpse in a mile radius." Troy's words were like a summon when the scattered sight of the swaying dead from all sides came in sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts?


	14. Chapter 14

Cristine coldly glared at the silvery eyes that looked like dull coins. Yellowed teeth snapped, showcasing the feral appetite of the incoming infected. She took the machete from the side of her belt and swung it down the bloated and grayish face.

But with one dead down, four more took over. When she looked at the rest, her situation wasn't special. The others were in the same predicament as her. "Don't use your guns unless necessary or we'll attract more!" In one fluid motion Cristine raised her blade and hacked the rotten infected down into cranium after cranium. She had to twist her head sideway when the direct hits send brain matter across her face.

While the dead lacked any sort of communication, they marched towards them like one sentient mass. Their groans and snarls were unpleasantly harsh and hair raising. They came from the cool shadows where the awning of leaves blocked out the sun and at a glance it didn't seem that so many dead greeted them. But the way they were dispersed and emerged from every opening in the woods just added to the problem that this was a scattered horde. It was a mystery where this swarm obsessed with fresh meat came from and how it migrated into such a large group. There was young and old, men and women, workers and businessmen, children, government servants, each and every one of them decomposed.

The collective hissing and snarling as they trek as a single being towards them, made Cristine her skin crawl. The dead came from one side, so the only option was to run in the opposite direction; deeper into the woods. At this point, everyone realized the only chance for survival is to run away now or get torn into the couple of hundreds, if not more dead coming their way. It was impossible to see the full length or size of the full herd due to to trees, but it didn't leave much to the imagination that playing hero or brave by taking it on with guns would prove futile.

"Let's go!" Troy's voice pierces the noise of the growling.

Everyone bolted into action. Their bodies heavy with the riffles dangling like anchors that slowed down instead of protection at this point. Their boots thumped into the soil, trampling a few dry leaves in the process. The warm air irritating the lungs and throat when inhaling much faster and deeper. It was all or nothing at this point.

The marching mass of unbalancing dead whilst slow, didn't tire and even with the distance created. It wouldn't take them very long to run out of fumes with no place to hide from the dead. Also, the deeper they got pushed into the forest, the larger the unfamiliarity of this side.

"We need a fucking plan man!" Willy yelled after cutting down a single roamer in mid-run with a swift swing of his bladed weapon.

At the front, Troy sucked in a harsh breath as he thought of a plan to get them into safety, at least until this damn horde passed them. His mind went one hundred miles per hour as the gears of his brains mulled over an escape without the risk of having to fight head on. Because that was a fight they would lose and it was better to be smart about it than brave.

Troy's eyes moved between the open space of the trees. In mid-run he unconsciously tuned out the loud and repetitive growls, beating riffle on his chest, and the complaints and frantic cusses of the others. He exhaled and tasted the droplet of salt on his lips. The path was straightforward and as it stretched and stretched deeper, his brain started to refocus, searching for a way to safety... should they kill what they can... run up to the end of this path, where the path split in every direction...

If Troy's thoughts were visible they would be part chaotic explosion with twists and turns. Spinning with what could be coined thoughtless and no logic, dancing their way back to do the irrational. His pupils dilated when a walking corpse swayed towards him. It bit and snarled at the air, blackened incisors exposed. Troy's body processed his plan quicker than his mind. Reacting on reflex, Troy slams his machete through the cheek, thinned muscles of the jaw and like a hot knife through butter watched its lower jaw drop down. Troy then slammed the end of his riffle on the intact teeth with so much force, he felt the vibrations of the blow all the way up his lower arms.

"Troy what the hell are you doing?!" Mike hissed when he realized Troy hadn't intended to end that geek in one strike. Instead, his best friend stopped in his tracks instead to bash open it's mouth and decapitating the hands, wrist up.

"We need to go man!" Mike looked between the eerily focused Troy and behind where he couldn't quite see the violent dead yet, but their oh- so clear warning alarms of uniform growling.

"What the hell is wrong with him?" Willy piped up, much to his confusion and horror. Had their leader finally lost it?

Cristine's frown only deepened when she saw Troy take out the walker. She understood where he was going with his plan. Use the dead as portable force field... like when she tested her 'hive mind' theory with him at the sidelines. But a few dead on their side wasn't going to help against a full-grown herd. The herd was already in a volatile state and they'd only agitated the ones they would incapacitate.

"Troy, that won't work with an already frenzied horde," Cristine interjected much to the rest their confused surprise. She took a step closer towards Troy whose hands were covered in blood, muck and gore.

Still hunched over, Troy paused in his actions and answered in very calm tune, "I know. External variables and all that stuff. It won't calm them down."

In spite of herself and the dire situation, Cristine wanted to know what he had planned. "We have fifteen minutes. - maybe- until that horde spots us again. Give the order."

Troy stopped when he heard the last three words and throws another glance over his shoulder to look up at Cristine. He forced his muscles to relax one by one, free hand twitching, he ordered, "Blake, Mike, Willy help me cut as many roaming ones down and stack them up as a pile... like we did at the depot."

Amidst their visible confusion, the three, albeit with faint hesitance, followed what Troy said.

"Coop," Troy flicked his attention between the archer and then Cristine, "you and Gerrard put down the dead at the front. If they come too close to us, off them." As he spoke, Troy undid his watch from his wrist and held it up so she could to take it.

"Eight minutes." 

-

_One minute_

Coop and Cristine stood at adjacent sides of two trees, backs to the rest and face forward in the direction of the misty shadows of the packed dead marching their way.

Looking through their scopes. Seeing the hundreds of hostile through amplified vision; then buffered shots were discharged to take down as many unsuspecting dead as possible with the ammo they still had on them.

_Three minutes_

The air was foul with blood, rotten flesh and deafening growls. But the quartet, under Troy's directions, worked on mowing, dragging and stockpiling the corpses with the discipline of a coherent team. Blades and other improvised weapons were either slick with blood, brain matter or other gore.

The four were focused, leaving the defense to Coop and Cristine, as they continuously cut down whatever unlucky roamers crossed their path from the incoming swarm of their specie. Gradually, Troy, Willy, Blake and Mike laboriously transform the lopsided bodies of at least ten to twenty across on another.

_Six minutes_

Cristine continuously pans her scope's field of vision over the endless span of the huddled and unprecedented number of dead and she stares at it, dazed.

Behind the layers of standing trees, each and every single dead bumped and touched it's neighbors, rasping with feral and untamable hunger. Despite their slow, dragging the weight of their body weight, they walked steadily into a set direction.

Their direction.

"We need to go back. Now!"

_Seven minutes_

For most of that time, stacking one body after the other, the building of the mound of corpses was satisfactory. A couple of times, the pile collapsed like a house of cards. It was a gut wrenching sight and the smell was enough to make one hurl. The blood and other fluids that soaked their fattigues nauseating.

Troy nodded, satisfied with the stockpiled tower. "Right," he breathed out more to himself and as if sensing the 'life' force of the horde closing in on them, the wasp like buzz thud through his ears. The adrenaline pumped back into his veins and Troy's expression faltered when Cristine and Coop returned, faces wet with sweat and muck. For a moment, Troy can't tear his eyes away from the migrating legion of dead towards them.

"Whatever the plan is boss," Coop breathed out heavily, his hands on his knees. "now's a good time to do it."

Cristine noticed the rancid and slimy heap of corpses accumulated together like some structure and felt the back of her throat tickle from the urge to reflexively gag. It was a mesh of human degradation at its worst. Her eyes then dart at Troy, who seemed in trance by the herd like a moth to a flame.

"Troy, we need to cover our mouths faces before we go in all... _that_." Cristine voice brought Troy back to the present. The look on his face in the light send an unease wave through Cristine's gut.

"What the hell are you on about?" Willy piped up, deep lines marring his face. He didn't like Troy's introverted behavior in such a dire moment.

"We use the bodies as barrier," Troy clarified and followed Cristine's actions and bend forward in a slight arch, reached for the lower pockets of his pants, and fished out a handkerchief. "We already establiahed the barrier against the dead by their own scent," he reminded the guys of their first run to the military depot.

"That's fucking insane," Mike breathed out with wide eyes.

"Stop acting like a bunch of pussies." Troy send each and every one of them a glower. "It's either that or join the club. Cover your damn faces, pick a comfy spot to lie down and don't move a goddamn inch until I say so."

Troy was done talking and hurriedly tied the piece of fabric over his face. His eyes continued to dart to the horde and back. His expression spoke of pure exhilaration of attempting this. Troy never noticed the scrutinizing dark brown eyes that caught the morbidly gratified expression on his face. It spoke of a person obsessed with the madness of being amongst the 'evolved' dead, with the highest chance of risk of their own possible deaths, but also a certainty they would make it out alive.

-

The more than dozen bodies lie crooked in bloody heaps on the moist ground. The smell is unbearable: sickening rancid and down-right shit and other unhealthy excrements. It not only permeated through the air so thickly, but inhaling and exhaling left a rancid taste in your mouth and watered the eyes. And it wasn't just a single smell, it was as if all odors present vied for dominance like a blowing wind.

It was a strange sight if seen by anyone with some form of intellect; a random path of a wildlife park stockpiled with bodies on top of one another. Some of the corpses cut while others were fully intact. In normal circumstances, such a scene would have been reason for any well-thinking creature to stop and inspect it.

Fortunately, to the moving cadavers; intelligence, thought or any form of rationality or sense of self was wiped a long time ago. The only signals the central nervous system send to the dead brain was the basic muscle memories to keep roaming without aim. Even with the dumbed down dead ignoring and passing the swath of brutalized and piled up corpses, it didn't mean that the six individuals laid down between the akimbo bodies, that this wasn't a terrifying experience.

Not being to able to really see what was around, just feeling all sorts of slimy and sticky human fluids, the sickening stench, but most importantly the continuous, droning that was painful to the ears. It vibrated in the air like the high-tension sound that was the distinguishable sound that belonged to the death. Their collective throaty groans as they trekked as a single, functional organism - towards them at first - was just skin crawling.

Cristine flinched, but pressed her mouth together and regulated her breathing when she felt a wet hand squeeze hers. Since it felt like breathing out loud was a risk and fatality by itself, she wasn't going to check who it was or brush his grip aside. Cristine remembered the person closest to her - Blake - and despite herself and raging nerves returned the grip and linked her slick fingers through his and silently shared her muted fears with him. The rush of shaky adrenaline was both hot and cold through her veins, but she made sure it never made it to her muscles or vocalized it. 

One second. One movement. One anything- was all it took to make this the last day on Earth. It was a dreadfulness that hit at its core when in such close contact with dead. It was around them in literal sense. Cristine felt her eyes slightly water as her mind wandered to her father and sister. As brief as the diversion of her thoughts were, those images gave her the mental strength to unclench her rigid muscles and the drive to look to her hopes and life again. Cristine wasn't going to die in human waste with people she hated.

Over first few seconds, just before the first rank of the horde passed, each person within the human gore unconsciously looked for a living presence. And over the course of those surrealistic mind numbing moments, during which the sextet can only play possum and wait out the trek of this large number of dead, their lives felt so rare and minuscule at the same time.

They were outnumbered, overpowered and in over their heads. In this moment, the world didn't belong to any of them. It belonged to the walking dead. The walking corpses that just moved without pause, destroyed lives without discrimination and just broke down hopes and dreams like it was nothing.

Even time seemed to have lost it meaning.

Like a heavily stimulated and intoxicated army, the herd marches forward. Each infected rubbed against its dead neighbor, jaws snapping, groaning at the air because of simple imitation of one and passing it on to the other, until it grew into this dangerous hive-like behavior. The dead move with an adamant slowness, dragging itself as a single structure through the woods of trees. Its numbers expanding into hundreds. Its movements so awkward, but steadfast in one direction. It was impossible to see the end of the full heard, but it was vast and maybe even a thousand strong.

Troy felt his heartbeat, heard the agitated noises of the dead, felt smelled the dead. He would even dare say that felt the single sinuous ambience of the dead. Despite it all, Troy was deliriously... happy- giddy even. The edges of his mouth were pulled out, in a thin lipped smile. He'd never in his life experience such beauty. Never had to experience being in the thick of such a situation. Where this undiscovered biblical... beast that moved on its own. It wasn't really led by anything but feral drive. Troy wanted to hurl from both the stench that stuck around him like a second skin and hair raising sensation in the deepest fiber of his being.

Of course, Troy would never willingly run into a horde and fight it, he wasn't stupid. But this moment was a different sort of experience with the dead. Being in the thick of it all and with his life on a thin thread. No obstacles to keep this thing from growing into a monster and swallow anything and everything until it reached the ends of the earth. It would obliterate all that was in its path. In a way it was fascinating to see how life and death evolved into what it was now. How those two concepts had changed and became intermittent in a sense. The dead rose with a cycle to put everything with a spark of life to an end.

It was more excitement for Troy than whatnot -not fear- and he'd accept his fate fighting if it he'd ever came close to the cycle of touching death. The nerves in his body felt electrified, his senses sharpened like a knife and deep in the crevices of his mind, Troy felt some type of anticipation. An excitement of being part of the evolved dead in a way that made this current moment feel surreal to him. Troy felt as if right now was even real anymore and despite it al he smiled with one thought going through his head. 

_"It's beautiful."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts?


	15. Chapter 15

Thirty minutes. One hour. Two. Maybe even more. The adrenaline mixed with hopelessness and despair played a large part in one's sense of time. The march of the dead felt drawn out and seemed to go on and on. However long the stampede of the army lasted, it didn't feel as if it would end. But it did and that's when everything went still. The silence returned to the woods and even with the quiet hanging on goose bump covered skin, the maddening feel of the terrifying horde that raged like a plague through pores and bones.

Blue eyes dazedly stared at nothing in particular. His wide chest undulated in up and down movements from heavy breathing. All the reason for setting off this catastrophic beast of death and despair came flooding in and Ben's body chemistry frayed. He felt his chest grow heavier from the invisible weight of his actions.

_"I-"_ Ben's thoughts were stuck and for a long while he slowly, but shakily twisted his head. The movement was stiff and a bit spastic when his cheek hit the soft soil and his glossy eyes tried to map out the mushed and crushed earth where the hundreds, maybe thousand of feet trampled on the earth. _"I fucking made that."_ Ben swallowed and flinched from the scratchy feel of his dried up throat. Slowly, his muscles unclenched and his limbs twitch into action as he stiffly rolled halfway on his side, hidden underneath the frame of the derelict vehicle. Crawling out from under the abandoned construct Ben sought refuge for when the herd passed, the strength almost zapped from out of Ben's hips and legs.

"Fuck," Ben grunted under his breath feeling his stomach unclench as he forced himself up his feet. His face was pale and wet with liquids he didn't even want to guess. Finally, Ben raised his head, peeking in the area that was devoid of life-no pun intended. Now that he led those son's of bitches into chaos and off his trail, Ben could go back to the cabin and leave with the truck.

His hope of finding Joey and Dan, those pricks, fully dwindled and Ben wouldn't bother himself trying to look for them. If they were still alive, good for them, but he wasn't going to shed any tears if they were dead. Those two were the worst people he ever came across. They acted as if they owned anything and anyone under the sun, in particular women.

Whilst regaining his balance on his legs again after not using them for what felt like hours, Ben thought back to those uniform-wearing goons. Whatever they wanted, he had the uncanny sense it had to do with his partners and to that extent him. _"That woman... she looked injured."_ Rolling his shoulders to shake down the rigidity of his muscles, Ben aggressively chewed the inside of his cheek, drawing blood. _"Must've come across Joey and Dan and they- shit!"_ Now, Ben was positive he was being tracked which meant his life was at risk. With a severe expression he silently prayed to whatever creature still existed that the horde of walkers took them down.

-

No one says anything for a while, each person lost in their own mind. The facial expressions varied from dazed or incredulous, to shaking of the head while voicing shock and snorts of disbelief.

Cristine covered and uncovered her palms by moving her fingers up and down, as she tried to shake off the tingling. She couldn't get up yet since that same sensation of a thousand needles puncturing her nerves set in her legs. It wasn't her first time coming across a horde, but Cristine never ever did something as crazily ingenuous as what Troy suggested.

Speaking off-

Cristine finally looked up from her hands, and very slowly, very wearily stared at Troy's back. He was the first already up on his feet, full attention in the direction where the herd took off. His body tilted toward the source to aid in his observation as he cast a long focused stare at the thing that caught his interest. Just by having seen his face before the horde and times out testing with the dead, Cristine could make a drawing of Troy's expression. Cringing at the mismatching reaction to the long-lasting madness, Cristine looked away. Her eyebrows lowered together into a tight knit as her mind replayed the teeth chattering experience.

"Where the hell did all those dead come from?" Running his hands through his hair, Blake's low question left thoughts scrambling to understand. "Didn't know there were so many of them here..."

"Yeah," Mike agreed, his posture slumping slightly as his breathing felt restrictive. "It's different from the one we rerouted at the Ranch. This- this one just came along like some wandering pack, only more."

"They usually start off small," Cristine got up from the slick ground in one fluid motion and cast glances at the others while explaining what she deduced created a horde. "The sound attracts them and they merge with the other smaller groups. It's how they become larger and larger. From what I have seen they don't have a purpose until something attracts them, like a prey or sound."

"This is the most aggressive I've ever seen them. Looked as if they were affecting each other like some hive mind." Troy piped up in a crisp voice. His hands were locked at the front of his tactical vest that was now stained with a mix of dark colored liquids. His mind traveled back to Cristine's theory of that same hive mind and he laughed in spite of himself. It seemed that all the knowledge they gained just from going out and testing was worthwhile. He'd have to make sure to document it all for future field tests.

"That was quick thinking boss." Willy rolled his shoulders back and forth, his voice heavy, his words filled with appreciation for overcoming their near death moment. "The smell will be hard to come off, but that was- something."

"That's all fine and dandy," Coop gestured at the thousand and one imprints on the ground and spit on the earth, "but with that we completely lost the trail," Coop turned away from the group with a badly disguised irritation blossoming on his face. All that effort and time tracking wasted in the span of minutes.

With his lips pressed together, Troy moved the corners of his mouth from left to right. He stares at the dirt as though the answers lie there. No one could outrun a horde, best option was to hide and if this sneaky bastard was desperate enough to summon a horde, something told Troy it was a last ditch effort to make it back to his vehicle.

"We head back."

-

Troy was undoubtedly the one in charge - not that there ever was any doubt from his men - but being out like this with the militia shifted Cristine's opinion of the men into a positive one. The group functioned as one, following Troy's orders without fail or complaint.

After the horde, Cristine was finally able to see better through the fog in her brains. The claustrophobic feel of looking at the tree branches and even her bordering panic attacks since the cabin dwindled. It was all thanks to that horde... all thanks to the fact that she could have died without her family the wiser. Thinking of her reason to live in that moment, squeezing Blake's hand in equal comfort gave her the mental push needed to think without spite and rage to kill. A painful jolt in her ribs and face eventually shocked Cristine from her thoughts. Her left arm burned so she slipped the loop of her riffle on the other side of her body.

The sour taste of the air stretched for miles even as the group walked back. Flies buzzed, attracted by all wafting rot in the woods. Other than their shoes scraping over the uneven path there was virtually no sound. The sunlight dried up the unidentifiable liquids, caking their skin and increasing the irritability amongst the group. Five clicks in and they arrived at their rides just as the sun started to set.

While the others build camp, Troy contacted back home and discussed the situation with his older brother. Jake was the one who convinced their father they stay out a day longer, but with what happened with the horde, today was completely wasted. Troy didn't want to leave and had a gut feeling they were close. Blue eyes rose when the wind whipped the tip of the leaves as it whistled between the branches. Troy had his walkie-talkie near his mouth and waited for his Jake's opinion for them to stay out longer.

"Dad wants you back by tomorrow Troy." Clenching his jaw, Troy opened his mouth to argue against the decision.

"We have a risk walking around here Jake... we can't leave it and have it bite us in the ass later."

Through the static: "I understand, but you lost all possible trails to track him down. Vigilance is key now and we're well-defended. Chances are that he ran off and we'll never see him again." Troy glanced out at the camp and sees the guys made a fire and cooked the MRE's for tonight's meal.

"These people are animals Jake." Troy moved his eyes on the periphery of camp, focusing on the wraith he identified as Cristine. Even if it wasn't her turn to guard, she stalked near the edge of their resting place. Licking his lips, Troy pulled the walky closer to his mouth and thumbed the button.

"I didn't tell you everything yesterday, since I didn't want you to worry, but they attacked Cristine." It was probably low to use the assault to convince his brother, but somehow Jake and Cristine were friends. Maybe it was because they both shared the responsibility of the older sibling, but Troy noted they had some type of bond. Weirdly, the two got along just fine so Troy would use that to his advantage. Jake was soft like that.

"Is she alright?" Troy clenched the transmitter and focused his gaze elsewhere in an attempt to ignore the feel of annoyance at his brother's apparent worry. How typical of Jake to care for strangers. But at least now he had an opening to sway Jake to his side.

"Considering everything, I would say she's holding on. She was the one who killed them before they could cross the line." Troy sharee enough information to make it clear to Jake that they were dealing with the lowest of the low.

"Even more reason to return home. You should've told me earlier." Troy chuckled through their conversation and shook his head.

"Your friend is out for blood brother and I don't blame her." Troy's gaze steered back in Cristine's direction, she was busy cleaning the dirt and muck from her skin now. "She's a fighter, but she hasn't slept since, is prickly, and stormed off more than once. Had to haul her ass back a few times to make sure she stays in line." Troy purposely exaggerated the facts, but he didn't see any room to take any risks when telling a little white lie. Protecting his home and the people there always came first. Those were the principles his father instilled in them. At this point it was necessary to use force.

"Can't imagine what she'll do once she hears we leave at first daylight, but I don't think it promises any good." Troy's voice dropped an octave and feeling that he said enough urged Jake again, "give us one more day Jake. Heck I'll make sure to drag her ass back if she resists."

Troy held his breath and focused on the crackling of his walkie-talks and heard Jake's resignation, "one more day. I'll cover for you with dad... just be safe little brother."

"...I always am Jake."

-

  
Cristine crossed her arms over her chest, the cold felt like tiny pinches on her skin. She put her focus into dark. The night was thick and tangible and everything was cooler than earlier that day. Just like the other days in passing. Hot during the day and freezing at night. She tried not to think of the cold, but of last week when her and Hailey cooked together. A hearty breath escaped her lips and Cristine rubbed her arms up and down as she sniveled and dropped her head between her shoulders. The dim glow from the camp fire pushed the shadows between the open space of her shoes. When she heard the scraping of boots over the ground, Cristine looked over her head and unconsciously tensed when she saw him.

Troy.

In either hand he carried a tin cup with what looked like coffee. His expression was mild and once he stopped and stood next to her, he stretched his hand out to offer her a drink. Once she took the cup, the warmth of the metal spread through her cupped palms.

Neither interrupted the silence, had no need to. She wasn't sure if Troy came here to talk about the horde or their runner, since those were the only things worth talking about. Given his behavior, Cristine guessed the latter. She understood Troy a bit better the more she was around him. Still, she made no attempt to converse with him and was relieved he didn't. The steady air around him didn't bother her, as she was too distracted with her own issues to pay him any mind. Right now, it was simply her and Troy staring into the dead of night, the sound of the animals bustling at night and nothing else.

After a while, Troy said, "I managed to convince Jake to give us one day, but we have to go back after that. Whether we find this guy or not."

"His name is Ben." Cristine answered in a crisp voice and took a sip from the caffeine induced beverage. It was a luxury drink and Cristine enjoyed the taste. With her free hand, she rubbed her aching shoulder and the pain shot in different directions of her body. The aches worsened and Cristine couldn't do a damn thing but cash it all in. "Their leader's name is Aaron and from what I gathered they take women and do with them what they want." Her expression never moved away from the shrouded woods of dark and shared what she remembered, "they're looking for a place, any place really, to settle in."

"You mean a place to steal," Troy corrected and his gaze sharpened into something ruthless and chilling. "We're sitting ducks without a trail and just leaving is a risk I'm not willing to take. We have a job and responsibility to protect what's ours and take down everyone in our way." Troy flicked his eyes in the direction of Cristine, watched her profile while downing his drink.

"I think the best option is to start at the cabin again," Cristine answered and returned his unwavering gaze. The bruise on her face colored a dark shade on her russet brown skin. The swelling of her eye worsened a significant amount and messed up the symmetry of her face. "He clearly lured us up north and made sure that horde did too. Only option to leave is south, where his truck is." Cristine slid her hand into the pockets of her pants and much to Troy's surprise dangled a pair of keys in front of his face. "I found these when we were tracking him... he must've lost it when he went to hide."

"You think he'll come and look for it?" Troy arched a brow as he pushed his shoulders back and with his torso stretched stood at full length and gestured at them, "he won't need his keys if he knows how to hotwire his ride.."

Cristine shrugged, unbothered by the comments and twirled the silvery keys between the length of her finger, "he'll need his truck either way and that means he needs to return to the cabin."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the aftermath of the horde and everyone's thoughts and feelings. Do share yours in the comment section down below! It really gives me life to read them and keeps the motivation up 😉
> 
> What did you think of Troy using Cristine's situation to convince Jake?
> 
> Do you guys think the group will catch Ben?
> 
> Any other thoughts?


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, this was one long ass writer's block guys! I'm so sorry, but I wasn't going to post something I wasn't satisfied with. English is not my native language so it can be hard to sometimes find and write the right mood of some scenes, especially when you have the plot planned out. But here you guys go!

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Those curses kept repeating inside Ben's head as he ran, and ran, and ran. He let his guard down. Let a moment of safety get the better of him the moment he saw his truck neatly parked where he'd left it. Ben almost tasted freedom. He didn't give thought to check his surrounding again. The young man that summoned a horde of corpses none the wiser his plan failed and that his trackers survived the dead by tooth and nail. But they fully counted on him returning to his last safety net. Ben should've seen it coming, but his exhaustion and hunger sucked up the last fumes of vigilance and caution. The group bet on that too, probably pulled through the night to make it all the way back and wait for his arrival. 

Ben slithered between the trees. From his peripheral his vision was but a blur from his sprint. His legs ached, but he pushed through, recoiling when wood splintered near his head from the fast projectile. The sound left a high-pitched ring in his ear drum. Stunning him. Ben didn't know where he went and randomly chose a path that put as much distance between him and his assailants. There was no time to curse his luck. Just run and don't look back. 

Never look back. 

Panting with sweat like a second layer on his flushed skin, the droplets invade his eyes. The running wasn't a pretty sight, red cheeked with a lopping gait that showed the increasing weariness in his body of the last few days. Ben persevered, thinking of what his fate entailed if he'd got caught. He jumped over the low heaps of dirt, trampling the dry leaves as he raced like a rabbit. With each footfall a jarring pain shoots up his lower legs. Ben couldn't quite find his way around the woods, but the group were weighed down by their guns. The weapons useless unless they had a clear shot, which they didn't have chasing him. 

Ben sprinted and with it his world also sped up. So the effort of him slowing down when he saw the body creeping up rounding behind a trunk was his downfall. Literally. His eyes widened in shock, and he was falling. His sense of time slowed until there was only his body dropping to the ground like a heavy sack. Everything else was a blur swirling out of his vision and he prepared for the barrage of pain. The impact of his body colliding quivered through his bones. His head bounced on the earth and Ben felt a wetness seep from his scraped open skin. He couldn't move at first, but the alarming growl of the body he hit numbed his pain and replaced it with rushing fear.

With dread, Ben jolted before rolling to his side, whereas the dead body lunged at him. Like a starving dog that finally found something to temporarily satisfy its craving did the biter dive teeth first into fleshy fingers. It happened so fast Ben was shocked by before his body napped into action. He kicked the dead back with all his strength, as his intact hand runs bloody when tightly gripping the lopsided and chewed off digits. Blue pools glistened at the corner of his eyes and Ben starts to cry like a child.

-

The very human wail was what drew Cristine near. Without giving it a thought, she bolted and unbuckled her machete from her waist. Her eyes zeroed in on the wrestling Ben and the dead. She sliced the long blade right through the neck and beheaded the infected. Its body fell on top of the unfortunate young man that was now pathetically dragging himself over the soil, feet desperatelt kicking at air. Cristine noted faint drops of red trailing near him. She put two and two together when looking at the reanimated head. Teeth still chattering up and down with white and pink meat of crushed fingers between the bloody incisors. 

The ugly bawling drew her focus and Cristine sauntered up to Ben hoisting himself up in a last attempt to continue his run. Ben gasped and cried, the terror of his end by these people somehow overruling that he was bit and already a dead man walking. "Please don't kill me. I- I'm not like them!" 

"Shut up," Cristine gripped the back of his jacket with two hands, twisted them and with all her strength pulled Ben from the bark and threw him onto the ground. For a split second, Cristine had a better view of the hand that missed three fingers. A sudden streak of annoyance bubbled under her skin at the thought of losing the man in such a cliche manner. A freaking waste!

"I said shut up!" Cristine hissed under her breath and towered over Ben's body and straddled him. She clamped a hand on his mouth to muffle the sequence of sound and dug her nails in his cheeks, "shut up or you'll attract more dead." She warily met with his reddened eyes, even detected the spark of accusation and scorn for his current situation. 

Breathing out, her glare focused on the chewed off fingers, blue eyes peering up at her. "If you want me to save you, you do as I say. Got it?" Audible confirmation was left to the back burner when the rest of the group finally caught up. 

A heavy set of footsteps surrounded them and Ben jerked his knees and torso upwards to throw the woman from on top of him and flee. After the first jerk, that faintly made her body bounce, Ben fully froze and sharply inhaled. 

"I dare you." With the goad, the sharp edge of her machete rested near his jugular, its position and range on target for the fatal kill. His breaths turned feverish and he lightly moved his head from side to side, pleading her with wide eyes not to. 

"Damn it Cristine, I ordered you to fall back!" After the first hushed yell, the rest of the men in full military wear and riffles came together. They were organized and swift in exploring their surroundings. Despite the heat and sweat fermenting inside his clothes, Ben shivered from the chill in his bones when he watched the group of armed peers. 

"He's bit." Cristine didn't turn around to look at the others, but stared into Ben's frantic eyes. What was going to happen to him.

Troy's blue eyes flashed precariously, clearly angered by the outcome. "What are you waiting for then? Put him out of his misery." Chilly blue eyes darted in Ben's direction and then towards his cleaved digits, saying, "He's a dead man."

"Mmffhfh!" Ben's muffled pleas were frantic at this point and sensing she had no time to lose arguing or repeating her offer. Cristine saw inside his wet eyes the will to live so she was going to make sure that he did.

"This is gonna hurt... really bad, so I'm saying sorry in advance," even with her apology not sounding genuine, panting hard Ben wondered how in the hell she was going to save-

It happened so fast and Ben felt like canon fodder of a bad movie. The raised arm with the machete gripped tightly dropped down toward his extended right arm. Ben blinked and moved his head in the direction of where the blade cleaved at. The only thought going through him, "like cutting through butter." The second time Ben blinked he'd never scream so hard in his life and confusion scrambled his mind at the burning pain licking up his arm like a fire. He realized, for a second, that he couldn't move his hand. Ben thrashed in a frenzy even with the people holding him down and from his peripheral he realized why he wasn't able to move his hand.

He didn't have it anymore. 

-

Troy wanted to march straight to the guy Cristine so conveniently 'saved' to put a bullet straight through his skull. His eyes locked on the unconscious man tied to a tree and peering at the poorly bandaged stump. Cristine's move came as a surprise, yet again, and Troy was highly unamused by her behavior. 

"Care to explain?" Troy glowered at the brown skinned woman. Her shoulders were pushed into the tree trunk she so casually used as support. Her arms rest behind her back, elbows sticking pivotal from her sides in a relaxed pose. Hearing his pressing question, Cristine shrugged half-heartedly and it showed Troy she tuned out everything.

"Testing one of my theories," Cristine saw the furrow in Troy's brow. "It takes time for infections to spread. Removing the infected part decreases the chances of turning."

"Unless he dies," Troy still frowned, finding her timing to do such a test ludacris, but he didn't immediately refute her claim. If this prevented someone from turning, what did that mean for future experiments? Perhaps he could time that as well, but that would require more subjects. Time a bitten person that turned versus timing a bitten one before cutting off the infected part. It would mean wasting valuable medical resources to keep the subject alive. Troy would have to decide if such an experiment would be worth it. 

"We have medical supplies with us to treat his wound," Cristine continued to clarify, "also, figuring out how long it takes for the revival can help determine how long it takes for the infection to spread or the time a bite activates the virus." Cristine saw Troy's thoughtful gaze and twisted her tense jaw. It was getting harder and harder not to talk so freely about potential experiments with Troy. But her knowledge about them was one of the few, if not only, things she could use to draw him to her side and do her bidding. Cristine wasn't sure how she felt about that. Using these dirty tactics and handing him ideas for future experiment on innocents on a silver platter. Cristine didn't want to admit that Troy was right about her being the architect of this so called house. She wasn't part of the actual killing, but here she was using underhanded methods to get what she wanted knowing what Troy could and would do to the ignorant. 

When did she get so selfish and cruel?

"Yeah, we're not wasting anything on him," Troy ultimately sighed and lowered his chin with a light shake of his head. No matter the temptation to perform this test, they only had a few hours to get information out of this guy. He promised Jake they'd go back home whether they found this guy or not. 

"I'll use my family's share of the supplies," Cristine made a face when she heard the decision. If Troy was going to play it like this then what did they waste time on this search for? Besides, every Ranch member put in their share in the pantry, so it was only fair she use that portion. Cristine was left undeterred by the stormy expression after she said that. 

"Don't get smart," Troy sneered in a dangerously low voice. He knew what she was doing, stalling to stay out longer and entice them- him- with these so called hypotheses. "Don't take me for an idiot by sprinkling bread crumbs with your little theories. I'll haul your ass back myself. Don't mistake your place."

Cristine clicked her tongue, unfazed by his words. "What about dealing with this group? Is that a risk you're willing to take?" A quick gesture of the head in the direction of Ben to make her point. "Why not take him back to the Ranch? He won't wake up any time soon and if he does we're already supposed to be on the road. We can always dump his body if he ends up dead."

"I don't think you heard me." Troy briefly shut his eyes, pulling in his impatience at Cristine's defiance. It was like she got a kick out of talking back to him. Troy stepped forward out of reflex his aura rather dominating. "I make a call and you follow. No discussions. No woe me world or plots. Nothing," Troy's voice dropped an octave as he set out his position so there wasn't any room for discussion. 

"Troy," twisting his head, Blake approached them from the side. There was a beat of hesitance when he interrupted. From the looks of it, Troy was clearly pissed with Cristine, again, but Blake wasn't going to make the mistake of fighting her battles. Not against Troy of all people if he didn't wan't toget his head chewed off. Still, his leader's murderous face was something else and Blake scratched his throat.

"What?" Troy asked through clenched teeth. 

"He's awake."

-

Ben's sight was fuzzy. His right arm on fire and the sweat on his face drizzled from his pores like a squeezed out sponge. His throat parched from the lack of fluids. Blue, half-lid eyes flutter, attempting to puece the bodies shifting in front of him. Out of reflex, a stiffling sob hacked from his lips and Ben shook his head. Someone inched closer and blinking repeatedly outlined what was usually a pretty face on the regular, but now covered in dark bruises. 

"Hm," Ben moaned when the woman pressed a hand on his forehead. The pain throbbed not only in his right arm, but in the rest of his body. The deep and warm feeling in his gut unpleasant and nauseating. 

"He's running a fever," the soft voice made Ben smack his dry lips over each other before wetting them with his tongue. "It's either because of the injury or the infection spreading." 

"How long will it take until he turns?" Ben frowned, brain hazy as he tried his best to focus on the conversation. What did any of that have to do with his situation? He was either done for or not. 

"He's weakened so probably faster than usual. I'd bet an hour tops." One male answered in a factual manner. Why the hell were they talking about him as if he wasn't here. As if he wasn't a damn human being? But already one of those things. "We can spare a few hours though. See what we can get out of him," the same voice decided and Ben reasoned it was the leader of these assholes. "No use worrying after someone who's already dead."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot's thickening and conflict is blossoming between Troy and Cristine. But is that really a surprise by now? It shouldn't be though XD
> 
> I'm curious to hear what ya'll think. As always leave a kudo and/or comment ✌️😊


	17. Chapter 17

Cristine checked Ben's truck. The vehicle was still in tiptop shape and it'd be a shame not to take it. The engine shocked to life, a scratchy sound of someone suffering from bronchitis filling the air. Satisfied, she twisted the keys and leaned back into the leather seat. The padding allowed her beating body to slacken and Cristine shut her eyes - the hum of the leaves a relaxing tune. Even for a brief moment; a few seconds of relaxation did her good. The silence a welcome to her psyche. Unfortunately, that moment of peace didn't last and Cristine reopened her eyes when hearing someone draw close.

"It's a nice ride," Blake popped from the driver's side, examining the wine colored truck. He whistled out a low impressionable tune and drummed his fingers against the railing of the open window.

"I guess," a stained red tugged her gaze towards Blake's stretched knuckles. The skin was ripped and every so often he rubbed at it. It wasn't hard to put two and two together after Troy's decision. They needed to extract information from Ben, despite his weakened and feverish state. Coupled with a few frustrated men who needed to exert their pheromones every so often, and the arduous task of tracking him down for days also part of their frustration. Cristine couldn't help but pity Ben. When Blake covered his bruised hand with the other, she unabashedly met with sheepish blue eyes.

"I don't think he'll talk. Kind of feels like a waste after all our effort."

"Well," Cristine arched a brow and made it a point to emphasize her opinion about dealing with Ben. But Troy shut that down in front of the others. "He's either going to die from that untreated hand, you guys taking turns beating him to death, or the infection spreading."

Blake tilted his head, puzzled "you were pretty confident he wouldn't when you cut off his hand."

"Doesn't mean it can't still be one of the possibilities." Cristine shrugged. "It's a waste if you ask me. Someone who's only outcome is death won't be useful, but that's just my opinion. Hell, if I were in his place, I'd let all of you choke on your anger."

"We wouldn't have it any other way Gerrard," Blake couldn't help but chuckle, amused by her continuous vocalization of disdain. He believed it just came natural to her. Cristine was a spitfire, but she did right. Her sharp jabs were part of her personality, but she really cared about the Ranch and to Blake, Cristine earned her keep some time ago. It was mostly through Troy's silent approval that unanimously sealed the deal.

-

Troy's shadow stood in front of the shivering and spasming body of a half conscious, but still living Ben. Flexing his fingers between the holes of the knuckle duster with a grip slick with blood. Breathing out from his lips, Troy tasted the metal on his tongue. Some spatters even dotted his neck and chin from the vigorous beating. Chilly blue eyes ogle the bandage. A dark liquid seeped through, it wasn't the usual healthy bright red color. Troy thought of the argument him and Cristine had about treating his wounds.

Troy inwardly cussed, partially towards himself and his men unable to get anything from him. He was tougher than he let on. Ben wasn't spilling the beans and they were due to leave for the Ranch in a few hours. His eyes darted up to the frail rise and fall of Ben and dropping his head, Troy palmed his neck to rub at the nick in his muscles. He couldn't let the bastard bleed to death or die from an infected wound. Not when they had nothing to show for it. It was the thought of what these people could do and a very ugly premonition lingered in Troy's gut. In an instant it turned into 'what could' and 'what if' scenarios for home. Troy's mind went blank. He stared at his boots digging into the earth, standing still like a statue. Troy continued to stare, unperturbed and placid as he came to a decision.

"Seems like you still have some of that luck left." Troy muttered at the out cold Ben before he left to find Cristine.

  
  


-

There was muffled screaming. Mike and Willy stood guard, eyes peeled for infected that stumbled towards the source and strong smell of burnt flesh. The veins in Ben's face and neck protruded and his eyes stretched from their sockets, like those eye popping toys. Pain was an understatement, amplifying with each passing second even after the hot metal knife left his stump. Hands from all sides pushed his writhing body down as the woman cauterized the reopened wound. Because of negligence, said wound wasn't healing properly due to a lack of treatment from these people and just leaving him to his fate. So dead tissue had to be sliced from his stump before closing it. While the process was just one, maybe two quick brushes against his flesh, the sensation was like an ongoing fire that faded to an icy numbness only to rekindle again.

Black filled Ben his peripheral, the world slowed and the only thing he heard was the beat of his heart. His breath came in muted, shallow gasps. Minutes passed. Maybe hours as Ben lay there, a ring in his ears. Shadows swarmed over him, trying to stay close or help, he didn't know. They only wanted to save him for their own gain. If he could have, Ben would of spat at them. Tell them to suck it and live in uncertainty and fear. But he wanted to live.

Bleary-eyed, Ben thought of his parents, his older sister and his older brother.... Aaron. The only family his big brother to protect and harden him in this new world. Aaron was always rough around the edges, but when it came to him, he'd move the world if he could. Hell, his brother was able to lead their current group despite all the volatile personalities. True his brother had done things that made Ben's skin crawl. Made him sick of how Aaron looked at people as a means to keep them safe. But that was his brother, his kin and Ben desperately wanted to escape this hell and see him again.

A coldness drenched his face and neck and with fluttering eyes Ben groaned. His reactions were prolonged and she tried to make out the haze through his watery eyes. Still in a delirious state, Ben flinched when something cool pressed against his head and sluggishly searched for the gentle presence. Dazed, his waning stare sharpened on the woman with the bruised face. A concentrated frown on her twisted brows and pulled back lips. Eventually, Ben's eyes rolled to the back of his head when his consciousness dwindled like a flame.

The third time Ben woke up he felt more alert. The main reason being that the feverish feel, temperature and ache that shut down his mind and body significantly eased. The tree bark that dug into his back was replaced with a more comfortable surface. Moving his head around to scan his surroundings, Ben recognized his truck. His moment of coming to clarity however sped up when Ben came face to face with blue eyes peering at him. They focused at him with such an intensity Ben recoiled in spite of himself.

The man sat in the driver's seat, body halfway turned with a knife clenched in such a way he had just made the decision to end him if were he to wake up a second later. Ben held his breath, quickly alternating his gaze between the cold metal and the man, the leader of this group. His stare made the top of Ben's head tingle, telling the story of someone who could so easily step away from every emotion. Step away from empathy to a place of nothingness. Such people chose to analyze the situation from a point of view of only personal gain, uncaring of the pain and consequences it created for others. Consequences that didn't matter in this apocalyptic world anymore.  
  


"You're Ben." The cold expression lightly faltered, but there was this standoffish ambience surrounding him. Ben couldn't really explain it, but inside this person's gaze lurked an emotion- no a steep curiosity that made his heart pound. There wasn't any empathy in this person.

_"I'm dead,"_ Ben thought as he stared back at the young leader of this equally young group of soldiers that held captured and tortured him for clues.

"What are your stats?" The question came out of the blue and his confusion must've been like an open book. "Height, weight, medical history and all that."

Licking his lips, Ben slowly adjusted in the backseat by pulling himself up, but he slouched back pathetically due to aches, his lightheadedness and severe disposition. "W-Why do you want to know?" Ben was almost too scared to uncover the reasoning behind such questions, but he was more afraid of what would happen if he kept quiet.

"To classify and categorize in which group you'd fall. Maybe even develop a whole new category now that we're sure you'll live." He gestured with his head at the stump, but Ben was unsure if this guy spoke to him or just said his thoughts out loud, "you see, I had this theory that you'd turn differently since you were bitten. We're all infected, but it's the bite that activates the pathogen... and medically there isn't a cure. I mean we can't really know for sure, but with everything burned chances are small." He paused, a light passing through his clear eyes. "Either way, it's either a bite or death before reanimation occurs and the time of reanimation varies... you're the first one that can give me some new insights. I would have to run the specifics by our doc, but we could have learned something. Maybe we still can."

Ben zoned out... these... these people were insane. They were out here experimenting on people?! Was that what happened to Joey and Dan after they got caught? His judge, jury and possible executioner must've seen his face blanche when registering all the information, "unfortunately we don't have time for all that." Ben's blue peepers darted back to the desensitized leader who moved his jaw from side to side, the tensing showing near his facial muscles and with that his focus, "me and men are running on a clock and I need specifics Ben."

-

"Thank you." Ben almost smiled when the woman paused for a second when tending to him, but quickly resumed changing his bandages. After that suffocating altercation, which Ben answered with such vagueness it left the leader, Troy, in a murderous rage until his lifesaver stepped in. He didn't know what they said, but from their rigid body gestures and inflamed facial expressions the pair disagreed.

Ben could use that to his advantage.

The stubbled young man felt his mouth twitch, having finally calmed down and his clarity restored. He was still alive. No harassment from the men or fear his caretaker would go back on her word and throw him back the wolves. It's been a full three days and nothing severely happened to him. But most importantly, no after effects from that bite or his wound. Ben still geared up when he looked at the place where his hand was.

"Here, it's not much, but you need to eat."

Ben his gaze sparkled and felt his gratitude grow. It felt as if his stomach ate itself up, making it hurt. And while Ben was starving, he couldn't help but ask, "why are you helping me? I- those two you and your people killed were with me. You even stood up for me against your leader." The more Ben listed the woman's selfless deeds, the more he found it too good to be true. No one helped nowadays. It was take. No matter what, why or how. Reasons other than survival mattered when it became a matter of life and death and protecting your own.

"You'll kill me after this," she froze and it was confirmation for Ben's spiraling thoughts, "won't you?" Her mouth twisted down, clearly taken aback with his accusation, but her tone wasn't as sharp as he expected it to be.

"If I wanted to do that, I wouldn't have put my ass on the line for you. Least of all against these pricks."

"Then why?" Ben whispered, both in fear of this being his last day and his hope increasing that the woman here was the anchor he could clutch on. The way she moved around in the group didn't fit his initial image of someone who had a close bond with them. Her argument with this Troy guy and her unwillingness to stick out her neck for these men she didn't like didn't add up either. Ben snuck a glance at the men in the background. It also struck Ben as odd, but she was the only woman in this pack. It didn't have to mean anything, but Ben deduced that her value in the group must be either high if she argued with her leader like that for him or there was something more complex. "Because once I open my mouth and tell any of you anything, I'm a dead man. Let's not shit ourselves here."

Cristine scoffed, "I saved you because even when bit, you said you weren't like your friends... and I don't want to kill you either when you tell us about your camp... and the women you're keeping there."

"How did you-"

"Your friends were pretty boastful about it." The way she tensed every now and then and the twitch of pain in her face made Ben pity her for a second. He didn't agree with what some in his group did, what his older brother Aaron turned a blind eye to, but they took care of those women and... and they were safe and alive. Not all of them were like Dan and Joey.

"We weren't out here to hurt anyone... we're just looking for a place to call home after the center got overrun. But I'm glad those two are dead, they were the worst ones and won't be missed," Ben's eyes lingered on the lesions on her face and whispered "it won't mean jack shit coming from me, but I'm sorry.'"

"Just eat your food." She didn't look at him after finishing up and leaving the tied young man cuffed in the truck with someone keeping an eye on him.

-

"I have a damn plan Troy, so stop messing jeopardizing it." Troy was all nonchalance when Cristine stormed up to him like some hurricane. When she spotted him near the jeep immersed with his riffle like some kid, it didn't sit well with her that Troy couldn't just let her handle it. Troy was a lot smarter than this, but clearly patience wasn't Troy's forte.

"Who do you think you're talking to?" Troy rested the riffle on his leg, brow arched with apathy just oozing from him like a second nature. His rough tone however, was the total opposite and revealed the handle he put on his growing exasperation.

Cristine folded her arms over her chest with a frown, "I don't see anyone else here so take a hint. You think scaring him is going to make him talk? You already used him like a punching bag. You really think that stunt you pulled back there will suddenly make him change his mind? You only gave him more reason not to."

"Then he's a dead man." Troy snarled, "you think your nurse act is gonna soften him up? We should've been back home long ago."

"Well you made that call." Cristine reminded him, "just like you made the call for me to treat him and pull out information."

"So where is it? This information." Troy made a face, clicked his tongue and finally displayed the same unbending vigor in his body as his voice. "Because other than wasting time and supplies on him, you haven't given me anything of value," He sneered.

Instead of comtinuing this pointless argument further, Cristine shared the little bit of clues Ben knowingly or not slipped, "your hunch was right, they're moving around to find a new place to settle. Old one is gone."

The faint surprise on his face was brief but Troy visibly put on a more relaxing front. Through his darkened gaze, he began to weigh out the situations debating whether the next step was to off Ben. Cristine must've had an inkling of where his thoughts were headed and interrupted.

Cristine rubbed the underside of her arms. "I'm not sure, but I think they came from up south."

"How so?" Troy mirrored her position, arms crossed over his chest with his attention undivided. This was what he wanted to hear.

"Mentioned something about their center being overrun. I remember passing a few FEMA outposts up south on my journey here. It's the only thing that comes to mind. I remember their locations and we could map a route where they could've come from. It's all speculation if he doesn't confirm it though."

Troy pondered the information and possibilities brought to the table. Fact remained, that some of these people were here now... to scavenge. One was still breathing and Troy believed Ben's group would send a search party after their own pretty soon. It's been almost a full six days since tracking down the bastard and three days ago was the deadline for their return back home. The weight of his responsibility for the whole outweighed his promise with Jake.

"You still think we should take him back with us?"

Cristine was quiet, inwardly surprised that Troy cared enough to hear her opinion. With all the head butting going on it was always surprising that they were still able to converse civilly about important matters. At least they could both set aside their issues and discuss the serious stuff, which was great. After her cabin incident Troy and the others were decent. "We've been out here longer than planned, his people could send a search party out and we can also interrogate him on the Ranch... and we're all tired. So yeah, I think we should."


	18. - Cristine & Blake -

"Cristine," hearing her name leave his lips made Cristine whip her head up so quickly it hurt. She sucked in a breath and looked straight into the glassy blue eyes of Ben, his face ghostly pale and more wan to the point of appearing almost like a ghost, with his dirty dark hair on top of his head.

"That's your name right?"

Evading his gaze, Cristine looked down and packed her supplies again. Apparently, ignoring him didn't deter Ben as he noticed activity in the small camp. They were packing and loading all their stuff, which meant they'd either take him or end his life right here, right now. "Can you please tell me what's going to happen to me?" Stabs of pain in his ribs made Ben suck in a painful breath in short sequences. "You don't have to do any of this... please."

"If you don't want a repeat of yesterday then shut up. Focus on your recovery. I don't make the calls."

"But you don't agree with them killing me right? I want to live." Ben pulled his nose and chewed aggressively on his lips. "I have a family too, just like you do. And I get why you're doing this, I would too if I were in your situation, but I'm a cripple. I can't even properly piss by myself."

"Then tell us what we want to know."

A cynical chuckle left his mouth, as if he'd heard the worst joke in history. "Give up my only leverage that keeps me alive... don't think so." He saw the contortion on her face and argued. "You can't blame me for that."

"No, but you need to give me something... a clue or I can't help you Ben." It was her turn to tilt her head and pull up her shoulder. "You can't blame for that."

"They're not even looking for me with the radio silenc-"

"You have a lot to say for someone who has been grinding his teeth while getting his ass beat." The taunting baritone voice, came from Willy, his unimpressed stare alternating between the two outcasts. They lingered on Cristine the most his mouth curling down into what resembled a sneer, before he unexpectedly hit Ben in the side with the end of his riffle. "You feel like talking now? Go right ahead."

Ben's teeth ground together, refusing to let a yell out as Willy hit him again, "come on hot shot, speak up. I can't hear you!"

"Willy," Cristine's voice was raw and yet somehow tense. "That's enough."

"Shut up, I don't take orders from you!" Willy scoffed and ignored Cristine. He half expected the woman to charge up to him. So when a firm hand tugged his arm back, Willy was ready for it, only to be surprised to see Blake. "What the hell?"

"You keep that up and he'll end up dead," Blake squeezed his hand tighter and Willy jerked his arm aside with a rough swipe. "We need him alive for interrogation."

Willy looked up and down at Blake and chuckled as if he'd seen and heard something hilarious. "Look at you... defending a punk and half-caste. None of this is our way," Willy looked passed Blake at said woman who showed him nothing but cool apathy. Unruffled by his claims even as he spit on the soil, "next thing you know we'll welcome them in our gates and let them run the place." He glared back at Blake and stepped forward, almost making their noses touch.

"You have any problems with this decision, you take it up with Troy," Blake didn't back down either. His shoulders were squared, chin raised and jaw set while never breaking the challenging eye-contact with Willy. "It's done man. You get right with it."

"None of this is right. It's bullshit and you know it. Ya'll lost your balls because of some bitch that's only good to warm a bed-" before Willy could even finish that sentence, the feel of a bone crushing fist hammer into his face. Blake was never one that came looking for a fight. Hell, after Mike, he was one of the softest ones in the group that eagerly wanted to prove himself. When Willy realized his body lurched backwards from the force of the blow, his face contorted and next thing he and Blake were grappling on the ground like writhing snakes.

-

There was blood on his knuckles, bruises on his lips and face and Blake can't recall the full fight itself. Glowering in the direction of Willy who hel his broken nose which Coop corrected tempered Blake his stormy mood into a sadistically happy one. Served that asshole right, looking for trouble where there wasn't any. Before worse could happen, the fight got broken up by the others.

Troy was furious.

"God dang it!" Blake hissed when Cristine slapped some ointment on his wound. "Easy with that. It stings."

"Well that's too bad," Cristine moved her hands over the next injury on his face and cleaned it from the grime. Tensions were already high and now this?! She wasn't even sure how that fight escalated, but even when she didn't want to be the in of any troubles, she was still in the middle of them. "I don't need you to fight my battles."

"That wasn't for you. Willy's been a prick even before the end of the world." Blake scowl deepens when he felt the same thick petroleum like jelly being smeared on his cuts to help with scarring. "He had it coming. Getting pissed over bullshit and thinking he's all that because Troy's put him as second in charge."

It was quiet between the two.

Blake shifted, eyes purposely raised at the sky so he didn't have to witness those two dark eyes silently glower at him in accusation for making trouble when there wasn't any. Everyone knew Willy would never go against Troy. The most he'd do in that situation was rough their prisoner up and spout his ill-wishes at Cristine. He was the only one that still had a problem with her, hell- even the unhinged and close minded Troy Otto was tolerant of her. Saw her as an asset and with the way Troy was raised, secluded and with certain values that was a damn near miracle. So why couldn't Willy just leave it be when Troy said it was alright?

"I'm just getting this out of the way now so don't get sentimental," Blake began, eyes following the clear sky. "You're one of us now whether you like it or not. Especially with everything that's happened." Cristine finished covering all the cuts, not really accepting or rejecting his approval. "You did good by me," Blake said in all honesty, finally meeting her sckeptical look and quickly smiled.

Cristine looks back, her features visibly relaxing, a subtlety that she seemed to consider trusting his confession. The tight heaviness in her stomach would always remain there after all. The chance of them turning on her... she was just a pessimist at heart and didn't forgive easily. But she could try and make an effort with Blake who'd stood up for her even when she didn't need it. Drawing in a breath, then releasing it Cristine tactfully offered her peace offering. "I want to do a last sweep of the place... I'll need someone to watch my back."

-

Cristine and Blake walked side by side, keeping an eye on the perimeter of the woods, keeping tabs on the shadowy nooks of the quiet landscape, watching for any wandering dead or living. "What're we looking for?"

"Nothing specific," Cristine said, pausing behind the tree bark with her hand pressing into the wood for support. It was late afternoon. The day still hot and clammy. Then again, the days always seemed so damn hot now. Since the world collapsed, the days grew warmer and nights chillier. Probably something to do with the decay.

Blake wasn't sure if he believed that or not. They walked further and further away from the camp. If this was a simple sweep, this wouldn't take more than fifteen minutes. "C'mon, you can tell me. What're you looking for? It'll go faster if I know what it is."

Cristine looked back at Blake and breathed a sigh of defeat. "I think he ditched or dropped his walkie during the chase... When he was trying to butter me up with his sob story again, he let something slip about radio silence. I told Troy I'd check it before leaving. Don't want to get our hopes up since it can be nothing."

"Doesn't hurt to be sure though," Blake finished, understanding why Cristine and Troy were acting so hushed hushed the last couple of days. The two paused in unison before hiding behind the cover of a foliage. The familiar sound of snarls gaining their attention. Undoing their stealth arsenal, hand clasping between breaths, silent eye contact before advancing.

Cristine yanked her knife back and watched the body drop down to the muck with a moist splat. She rolled the weight of her blade between her palm before a set of recurring croaky snarls grabbed her focus. Nickle colored eyes, bloated and grey skin and the features that reminded her of so many deceased. She tensed, body ready to jump into action, but the top of its head got sliced clean away by Blake. In a fluid motion the blow made a cracking noise and smashed through the membrane and pulpy gray gelatin. With a flick of his wrist, the blood and grey chunks whipped on the soil. The shapes register.

Cristine surveyed the fallen corpses and inhaled deeply when she made eye contact with the lifeless, alien eyes staring right back at her. Her mouth twitched and her blinking turned rapid when she realized that the greyish features were an exact copy of herself._ "Not now."_ Cristine clutched the solid hilt of the carbon steel in her hand and pushed the hot feel of her body down when her mind drifted to the cabin and to the heavy and sweaty bodies on top of her. _"Get a grip! They're dead and you're not..."_ Cristine swallowed the lump, shut her eyes and exhaled a shaky breath.

"-tine? Cristine!" Cristine blinked for a moment when a shadow fell over her and deviated her focus and turned to see Blake standing in front of her. Eyebrows wrinkled and hand up in the air, hesitating whether to shake her from her stupor or not. "Are you alright?"

Cristine knew she had to respond, but she couldn't summon up an excuse quick enough and looked back at the pathetic, ragged corpse just an inch from where she stood. Between the muck and dura, the hard splintered remains of what seemed to be an object partially stuck out. Going through her hunches, Cristine clawed through the excess of dirt and more and plucked out said walkie-talkie. Despite it being stomped on, it looked to be intact.

"Found it."

Cristine carefully cradle the device between her palms, looking for the on/off button and rolled it between her thumb. She didn't realize she held her breath in until she exhaled when the crackling noise filled the air. Forgetting her moments of hardships and grief just because of some static , wide-eyed zeroed in on the equally surprised ones of Blake. With a little bounce, she hugged him tightly despite herself and the dreary feel of these past days dwindled when Blake returned the embrace... the trapped feeling of the cabin, the disgust with herself and fury to kill Ben dwindled for the moment.

-

Cooper played with the walkie talkie, baring his teeth to display his frustration until his nostrils flared when it was just noise. But he soothed his vexation by exhaling in a short sequence. No use crying over spilt milk. Adjusting to what the situation brought them was the best course of action. "I think I can fix this baby. We have parts back home."

"The brand is Midland, meaning that the maximum range of it is 35 miles and narrow that down with the FEMA center... I think we'll have a pretty good idea where they could be," Blake leaned against the side of the Jeep. After he and Cristine returned with somewhat good news, they handed the device to Coop in the hopes that he could work his magic. They didn't get any service when trying all the channels, just static which added more to the frustration. But sound was good, they could use it to listen in on them when the signal returned once fixed.

"That's still a lot of ground to cover though... and we aren't that familiar with the area south from here," Mike said.

"Yeah, but if they have let's say a group of twenty at most they'd want to have a place indoors. Especially if they need to keep their women safe and locked in one space." A thoughtful look crossed Troy's eyes as he laid out his speculation and it all sounded very plausible. He quickly glanced at Cristine thought of her advice they take Ben back to the Ranch for interrogation. But with this walkie talkie, they didn't have to anymore and that was really what Troy wanted. It would seem that her way of talk and patience did go a long way. She really was the enduring and persevering type of person and it'd saved their families.

"So what do we do with him?" All heads turned in the direction of the truck where Ben was located.

Troy shrugged, "we pack up everything and deal with him. He's served his purpose."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm trying to build something between these two jerks. Out of everyone of Troy's group, Blake was the one to verbalize his remorse for all the things he did at the end of the season. Hope you guys like this (b)romance? Also, this arc will be wrapped up soon! I was stuck in a rut, but I’m back on track after some encouraging words from one of my readers.


	19. Chapter 19

"....y- ngh... ngh... hack-" Ben felt the knife before he saw it. He looked into the eyes of the wielder and through hacked gasps turning into gurgles felt tears spill. The cool eyes that were once filled with so much purpose, hope and a touch of naivete were now replaced with an eerie hate and bitterness. He should've listened to his gut and never put trust in those false words.

The only thing that showed any semblance to the woman that nursed him back from the fatal bite were her sharp, bottomless eyes. She played him like a puppet, from the very start, and now he paid the price with his life.

Even her team members were startled by the suddenness of her actions.

Cristine slowly sunk down together with Ben against the tree bark and felt his body relax. She watched how his eyes went wide, tilted her head as the bright colors faded and confirmed the slow stretch of his pupils. The iron grip of his good hand around her wrist eased until it limply slipped at the side of his body.

Cristine gradually pulled out the knife planted halfway into Ben's throat. She wiped the blood clean on his jacket, rolled her shoulders and got up. Her face blank. From her peripheral, people flanked her and Cristine looked to her left. Meeting Troy's austere gaze, Cristine clicked her tongue behind her teeth. The action had no real meaning, but he caught the pang of distress she tried to camouflage with her nonchalance. She didn't know whether to feel guilty or ashamed after doing that. Perhaps it was to close the chapter of what happened on this run and her tornado of emotion.

-

With ankles crossed and her knees leaning against the center console, Cristine looked in the side mirror. She saw Troy and the rest talk. Being finally alone with nothing but her mind it began to wander again and Cristine unconsciously squeezed her upper legs, until the blood in her fingers pumped with strain. Agitated, her eyes shifted to the mirror and her vision became glazed with a glassy layer. Then, the tears flowed unchecked down her cheeks and dripped from her chin. She was too sad to cry out or wail, she sat straight and tensed in her seat, still as a statue while the magnitude of her loss swept over her. As brief as it was, she'd never get that part of her dignity back. 

With the front of her feet, Cristine's left leg sprung repeatedly while she breathed in and out. She shut her eyes, rolled her neck from side to side, and reopened them again. Cristine's dark lashes were wet with tears; her hands clenched into shaking fists, in a desperate battle against the grief. But the tantrum helped clear her mind. She also had more than enough time to wipe away her tears, straighten her clothes and make herself presentable. 

After another five minutes, Troy slid into the driver's seat, started the engine with the flick of his wrist. At this point, Cristine wasn't at all interested to know why they were driving by themselves or if Cooper miraculously found the frequency. She was simply too tired to care about any of it. A lack of sleep during these past days finally took a toll on her. The bluish purple circles hollowed underneath her eyes told the story of her exhaustion. It was just another ugly blend with her busted up face that finally showed the aftermath of her beatdown. Cristine turned her head, completely oblivious of Troy to look at the fast changing wasteland outside. She inwardly winced from her pulsating face but soon tried to empty her mind, zoning out. 

"You did a good job back there." 

Cristine felt her right eyelid twitch and rotated her jaw, wanting peace and quiet. But then she remembered that wasn't part of Troy's personality when he had something to say. 

"You don't have to worry about being looked differently for the way you handled it, the guys understand... I understand." He emphasized the last part, as if she was worried the group, and in particular he, would look at her differently. 

"What you did before... how you did it, it was apt." Cristine swore she heard some sort of admiration in his monologue and knit her eyebrows together. Troy chuckled, "you even had me all the way fooled with the pity party. It was tedious, but in the end you... what you did saved us. But man, I wouldn't have that much patience in me to deal with it the way you did." 

"Troy." Despite the softness of her call, there was an edge to Cristine's voice. His compliments disconcerted her and he was oblivious to it. At this point Cristine had turned her head so that he fell in her line of sight. His body jolted from the uneven road, but his pause meant she had his full attention. 

"How long did it take him to turn?" 

"..." There was a shift on Troy's face, surprised by the question. He looked in the rear mirror before he divided his focus between the woman and the road again. "We'll be back home before dawn, you should sleep." Surprisingly, he didn't fall for her question, probably having seen that she wasn't in the mood. She didn't want to talk and Troy could imagine it was because of what she experienced. He'd respect that and leave it be for what it was. 

True to Troy's word, the group returned back home before sunset. The sun usually came up at the entrance and disappeared behind the Ranch. Cristine sat watching the line where heaven touched earth. Her dull eyes witnessed the resounding glowing collision. Sparks lit the sky and blood poured, as the glory of paradise descended further behind the seam of the world. Normally such a sight would make Cristine feel small as she glanced through the front window and saw as the shadows of the houses slowly shrunk. 

There was a light tapping on the crook of her elbow making Cristine twist her neck. Troy's mouth moved up and down, "I'll debrief with the guys, Jake and my father first." Troy pointed at her, "you get yourself cleaned up and those checked." 

"Mm-mm." It took her a while, but Cristine nodded, levelheaded and wide awake. The woman finally slept a bit after days of being fully awake. The trucks strolled through the gate at a walking pace and a small crowd of the team's family members gathered. The prominent figures, Jeremiah and Jake stood at the center of the medium sized assembly. Troy pursed his lips together into a thin line before her scratched at his slightly scruffy beard and pulled the handbrake. 

-

  
"Are you okay sweetheart?" Martha's voice dissolved whatever thoughts Cristine drifted to. She was one of the experienced medics around the Ranch, as she was a former U.S. military nurse at an army hospital in Tokyo, Japan.

Cristine hummed while she pressed the ice pack on the side of her face to limit the swelling and inflammation while Martha tended to her bruised stomach.

"Heard you took out three of 'em by yourself."

Cristine flinched when she felt the cooling plaster on her skin, her face contorted into one of discomfort. While she didn't want to talk, the conversation distracted her from the pain that began to kick her from everywhere.

It was as if the elderly woman could read her thoughts and continued. "That's good. We need people like you, despite our differences."

Cristine fought back the urge to roll her eyes so she shifted the ice pack on her jaw. Martha kept her hands occupied and admitted, "not everyone can fight what's out there. I for sure can't. But the militia, people like the Otto's, we need them to do what we can't."

"I'm not sugarcoating what was done back there... I killed them, lied to one and killed him too. I'm a killer and so are all the guys the militia. Even those idiots we... encountered, they're killers." Martha lowered her shirt and showed a troubled expression that was mixed with a pity and caution.

Those dark, starlit eyes stared right through every fiber of her skin, but Martha had seen these type of stares during the war more than fifty years ago. She had even seen it inside her husband after the war decades ago.

"I need some sleep." Martha didn't want to push the conversation as it even began to unnerve her what the traumatized young woman would say nexg. She half expected her to say more, share her thoughts, but she didn't.

"You should, I'll go and get you some pain killers from the pantry for after."

"I'll get it, it's on the way to my cabin anyway."

-

"Uh hey Cristine. You okay?" Gretchen was on duty today, much to Cristine's relief. She was one of the few people that actually treated her like her.

Cristine nodded, "I'll survive. I just came to get some pain killers, preferably anything with acetaminophen in it. It doesn't clot the blood unlike the others do and I don't want this to get any uglier." She mostly pointed to the bruises on her face.

"Oh, sure! I'm sure we have some of the good stuff." Gretchen's smile was naturally kind and the foreign feelings of sisterhood bloomed in Cristine's chest.

"Cristine, there's a lot of stuff with the aceta-what you call it here." Gretchen proclaimed from the back where the medical supplies were located, the confusion and hesitance in her voice clear. "I don't know which one to pick."

Cristine shook her head with a sigh and in her pain instilled gait went in the path of the adolescent. "Let me see."

She brushed her index finger over the pre packed medication, paused, before she found some Tylenol and flashed it at Gretchen. "I think one is more than enough, can you write it down for me."

The teen nodded and walked back to the front, to register the change in inventory. Cristine was slower than usual, so it took some time for her to get back to the front. When she did, there was a bit of hesitance in the girl's eyes as if she was afraid to ask.

"Go on..." Cristine urged her with a mellow smile to set herself as more approachable despite her beaten up state.

"Did you hesitate?"

"No, there was nothing to it. I just did it."

"O-Oh, well I'm glad you did. It'd suck if one of my friend wasn't here anymore."

"We're friends, huh?" Cristine crossed her arms in front of her chest, only to quickly uncross them from the jabs in her torso.

"Well duh... you can't fool me with that tough, no nonsense type of attitude. I mean it's cool and all, but I rather nag at you until you roll your eyes and grumble out your answer. Besides, you're the only badass friend I have in here that I can gloat about in front of the rest."

Smiling at the young girl's words, Cristine found her sense of normalcy rather refreshing. "You have your brother."

Gretchen shrugged as she fumbled with the sleeves of her checkered shirt. "But he's a guy and guys can be... ugh, guys." She made a face talking about Mike and just that earned more points in Cristine's book.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.... what did y'all think? Did you expect Ben to die so soon? And what about Cristine?


	20. Chapter 20

**THAP. THAP. THAP.**

After three consecutive knocks, the sound paused making Cristine looked up at her door with a deep seated frown. She just finished speaking with her highly emotional father and Hailey and needed to convince them nothing worse than the beating had happened. Hailey whoever had this look in her eyes that said she'd stop by later to hear the full truth. Her family were the last ones Cristine wanted to know what conspired. However, her clear cut explanation on how she dealt with them had strangely calmed her father. She expected him to be angry, blame himself and tell her not to ever set foot outside if it wasn't necessary; the same way he coddled Hailey. He didn't do any of that, but the sharpness in his blue eyes was chilling it startled Cristine. 

"It's me." Cristine bit her lip in frustration, she completely forgot that she would go to the pantry for a debrief. "Got you some pain killers," he said.

"I already have some," Cristine answered rather skeptical from the unexpected deceny. She had to get used to the fact that Troy and the guys saw her part of their people now. Cristine would move on, but she wouldn't forget. She'd probably never forget.

"We need to talk." Cristine hesitated to open, but then again it wouldn't last long if she tried to avoid Troy. She clenched and unclenched her fingers, mentally preparing her words of defense. While taxing to always be on guard what had happened in the woods refreshed Cristine's mental guard. She made a mistake out there; the Ranch and its walls had made her weak. But not anymore.

Several seconds later, Cristine's footsteps sounded on the wooden floor. While she walked, she slid her knife into its leather sheath and onto the back of her pants. The well-known door handle, which always frustrated her father when it didn't properly opened, turned as stiffly as ever. Cristine opened the door and promptly caught his eyes. The icy blueness generated a feeling like she was being pulled into a frozen lake. She could tell by his rigid body language that he was displeased, and those narrowing orbs confirmed her thoughts.

"It's about Willy." Troy watched her blink. He breathed a sigh, wondering how one person could step on so naturally on other people's toes to make them want to raze her place. The worst thing was Cristine didn't even bother faking she was unbothered. There was this permanent hostile air between her and Willy. Now Blake and Willy had issues with her in the middle. It was something Troy wasn't able to deal with immediately with the threat of Ben still in the air. But now he could and he wanted this wrinkle stripped from of his militia. The rules were here for a purpose and he couldn't have his men forget that purpose with petty fights.

"I already said my piece. You said you would handle it once we got back," Cristine said and leaned against the doorframe. "We're back. So handle it," she nonchalantly muttered the last part.

"That's not what he told me... so someone's story is not adding up." Troy's eyes squinted into beads.

"You saying that someone is me?" Cristine pulled up her nose.

"Watch it," Troy warned as he didn't like the accusing tone.

Troy and Cristine were at a deadlock... again.. and the way she looked at him, black eyes drilling into his. Troy couldn't help but think – he'd never seen such dark eyes with so much light inside them. Staring into them, he was surprised to see coldness. It was like looking into a depth of a never-ending darkness of a small portal of hell waiting to swallow everyone against her with its imminent ruin. Her glower radiated pure violence and self-destruction and that look was usually reserved when she was ready to fight for her life. 

"You know," Cristine chuckled in exasperation, tired to have to defend her right to breathe in the same vicinity as the rest. "It doesn't matter." She cut back the sigh and fought the urge of slamming the door in his face for wasting her resting time. Troy watched her frown slacken and tilt her head to the side, exposing the dark purple around her neck. The same black purple welts were scattered across her face like a disease. It looked like it hurt to breath and he wondered how bad the damage was. "You didn't come here to talk Troy. So make your point, spew out all that bottled up ignorance same as Willy, enjoy the power trip and leave."

Troy blinked at her statement, her face distorting into something disturbing and stayed silent as he listened to her rave. "I heard you got enough volunteers for your militia after this little trip so you don't really _need_ me anymore... so leave me be and don't drag me on these runs again." She gripped the door handle tightly, temper rising.

Troy frowned. Cristine was angry, had every right to be, but it wasn't solely towards her cowardly attackers or Willy. Some of it seemed to be directed at him and for the first time Troy had a hard time figuring out why that was. "Hey don't get pissed at me because you're feeling impatient. I know you were wronged, but we dealt with this. If we know more, we'll end them and that's a promise."

"Your promises don't mean shit, Troy!" Cristine finally snapped, irises blazing.

Troy threateningly stepped closer to her and covered her visibly shorter form. She was taller than most of the women here, but could never compare to him in height. Glaring down, Troy's jaw clenched. "Stop acting like a little victimized brat and get back in line."

"Fuck you," Cristine cussed and her eyes flashed dangerously as a cold started to fill her. "I'm not one of your men to order around and dance for you whenever you please." She was nearing that edge again and something told Troy that she was about to lash out. Not today, but when you least expected it. Like she did with when killing Ben out of the blue.

"I'm the one that makes the decisions here. The one who decides who gets to fight and not. Seems you don't really want to." A cold look filled his eyes as well. Troy never looked away. Whatever contest Cristine was looking for, she would lose it. 

"Just how you decide what kind of backstabbing acts your men pull?" she sneered and Troy paused as his eyebrows pressed inward and upward with confusion.

"What the hell are you-"

Cristine didn't let him finish and quickly asked him a question instead, "who was the one that found me in that cabin?"

"Willy, but what does that have to do with-"

"I saw him." Cristine cut him off, "when they ambushed me. He was between the trees, geared up with his riffle ready to shoot them." She shook her head and snidely laughed. "He wasn't even that far, couple feet away. Had a first row seat of them dragging me inside that cabin." Her lashes fluttered feverishly, to blink away the tears that threatened to fall, but didn't. She held them back, refused to break down in front of anyone, like some _victim. _Cristine refused to be a victim. She never was a victim in her life and she wasn't going to start acting like one today. Let alone in front of some biased asshole like Troy. "We _looked_ each other in the eye. He _looked_ at me and let it happen. Hell, he could've at least given me a chance to handle them with a warning shot." Cristine crossed her arms, exhaled and her face pointed down at the ground.

"He didn't do shit, but sit there and watch. He knew what they were going to do, but he didn't give a damn. You know why? Because I am who I am and he gets off on things like that." When she lifted her head to look at him, her eyes hard and judging. "I'm not blaming you for what happened. Willy is his own person and you can't control his every action. But I am blaming you for not keeping your soldier in line. I can't trust anything you say when your chain of command and men are a mess."

Troy inwardly sucked in his breath. The words were a blow to his esteem as both a leader and promise to the woman. She was right, if he couldn't even control his men, chain of command and order didn't mean shit! "I'll deal with him."

"Don't kill him," Cristine said, making him snap his head in her direction. "If it turns out we have to fight then we need everyone for this. Even him. Just make sure he doesn't look my way or I'll kill him myself." Shaking her head at the incredulity of it all Cristine complained wearily and went back inside her cabin, "and that's a promise I intend to keep."

Troy stood on the porch for a while before clenching his hand into a fist. If it was one thing Troy knew it was that Cristine wasn't a liar. He just didn't fully believe her because he knew Willy longer and trusted him. Trusted him enough to put him as second in command of his militia. But that same _trust_ was taken for granted and Willy dared play him like a fiddle and _lie_ to him. He humiliated him as a comrade and as their leader and that was unacceptable. 

And for what? For disagreeing with his calls? Because Willy couldn't set aside his personal feelings for the greater good? Behind the walls, Troy could understand banter, but Willy even went so far as taking risks outside and jeopardizing all of them. And then straight up lie to his face?! Troy felt like an idiot. A hot feel bubbled under his skin and his nails dug into the skin of his palm leaving crescent shaped marks behind. Troy took it personal; not only because of Willy's defiance, but with the broken trust from someone he thought respected him as a friend and leader.

For this disrespect and betrayal, Willy was going to pay!

-

"What the hell did I say?!" Troy gnarled, a guttural growl as he dragged Willy across the ground like a sack before slamming his bloodied fist into his grotesque face. His eyes were swollen over and bloody saliva rolled from his slack jaw. A vein popped out of Troy's forehead when driving his fist outwards again and the feel of beating him down quenching the anger Troy felt.

"If you have any problems with _my_ calls you come to ME!" Troy slammed is fist hard enough again to send his head backwards. Unsatisfied by the lack of response, Troy locked his hand around his throat. "You don't go behind my fucking back! You _never_ disobey me, break the rules and risk lives!"

The back of Willy's skull bounces on the earth, sending signals of white sparks through his field of vision. Even if he could fight, the rest of the guys were watching idly as he got the crap beat out of him. They were all under that bitch's influence and Willy got the short end of the stick this time. Through his red haze, Troy's twisted face and repetitive words faded in an out. The ground flew up again, his nose cracked under the pressure somewhere along the way. Yet another strike in his jaw that almost shattered his teeth. After a while, Willy hardly felt anything anymore, he could only watch as the person he looked up to beat his ass to a near inch of his life.

If Cristine would've seen the scene unfold before her, she'd be more than satisfied. Willy was finally as revolting in appearance as his ugly personality. The fractures of at least one rib, a broken nose and battered face the prove he crossed a line with not only Troy, but the rest of the militia. 

Troy's violence was usually in his actions. Everyone who knew- or got to know that side of him quickly understood that. That part of him needed to show itself every now and then and became transparant in the Apocalypse. Troy would have all the order if things were within his influence and he had the advantage over those against them. He would have order until he needed to make his point and show he was the one in charge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope reading this chapter was as satisfying for all of you as it for me writing it. I didn't forget what Troy promised to Cristine and now he's finally got what was coming to him.... again.
> 
> Thoughts


	21. - Epilogue -

Cristine opened and closed her mouth for the second time in a timespan of thirty seconds. Her questioning gaze avoided by the men that had come to join her during breakfast. She expected the aversion of the regular Survivalists in the camp, they were afraid of her. Even Dolores's glower wasn't as intense as usual. But these big, strong and buff men suddenly crowded her usual eating spot. Worst of all, they didn't even converse and silently ate their food, thank god, but it was bizarre and gave her the creeps. After another minute, Cristine threw her spoon into her half eaten food and pointedly glared at Mike.

"You. Talk." Mike didn't even have the time to avoid her glower, he could, but didn't dare to. Partially in fear of her outburst and Troy's scolding. Where the heck was he anyway? He threw them for this harpy that gutted people as if it was a morning run. After the confrontation with Willy and his explicit demand none of them disrespected his authority and decisions in any way, shape or form, Troy more or less ordered they make the woman feel less like a pariah in their community.

Including him, the rest looked to Troy for guidance, but since the last mission their leader seemed more fixated on James's oldest daughter. It wasn't in the man likes woman type of way, even if it looked like that on the surface. No, Troy was fascinated by her disposition, use of people and how she killed. At least, that's what Mike could see from his best friend's who'd always been like this. In the old world, Troy would have ended up in an institution, so the world going mad was a place where he belonged and could be himself. It was a strange and abnormal thing for Mike to think of his friend like that.

Mike felt a chill and nausea simmer in the pit of his stomach and coughed, having lost his appetite thinking about this. "We're neighbors. Just trying to get to know each other."

"That's a bold-faced lie," Cristine hissed back, as if he'd disappoint her in doing such a thing in the first place, before she snapped her leer on her next 'victim' Willy. She ignored the Mike's mutter of 'thank god," and pointedly looked at the usually aggressive redhead with a challenging look. He was never afraid to tell her a piece of his mind, so he shouldn't hesitate tell her why they were bothering her. He was the epitome of a racist, sexist asshole that she'd ever met. But, his busted up face was something that abated her anger, just a tiny bit at least. At least, Troy had finally done as he promised on account of her. It wasn't enough, but it had to do.

"You should ask Troy," Willy snapped in a low tune.

"I'm asking you William." Cristine countered, "what you can't even piss until he gives the order now?"

"Jesus, calm down."

"What was that Blake?" Cristine shot him a pointed look.

Coop who sat next to her leaned forward, partially blocking her dagger like glare from stabbing Blake in the process. She tipped her chin to meet his elevated eyes and rose her eyebrows up, waiting for him to explain. "We don't mean nothing by it. See it as a peacemaking meal for past mistakes." Cooper awkwardly explained, "the shit some of us said... and did to ya."

-

Since then, Cristine felt suffocated by the guys their goodwill and having her interact with them. They even used her father and Hailey to get their way. Cristine properly met their families and friends; had meals with them, went on patrol, even join the occasional hick party or two. Her participation was needed to feel less like an outcast and part of their community, as Troy said with his infuriating smirks.

Cristine fumed at the nerve of them all! It was barely a few weeks that they made her life hell for no reason than the color of her skin. If it was up to them they would have sentenced her to death. Yet now, because of orders and supposed acceptance and respect, they acted as if they were the best of friends. Cristine rather aggressively plowed the field with her shovel, much to Jake's surprise. The eldest Otto brother was also on duty to tend to the crops today.

"You wanna talk about it?"

"I'm not angry."

Jake felt his lips twitch and looked at the patches of destroyed earth. "No one said you were. You seem distracted."

"Hmpf! What do you care?" Cristine scowled and plopped down on her knees before throwing in some of the seeds in the open patches she made. It was done in a clumsy and incorrect manner and Jake decided that her fuming wasn't worth losing valuable seeds.

"You're doing it all wrong, here let me help. We can't be wasteful." Jake offered and held out his hand so that she could give him the seeds.

He used his smaller, gardening shovel to dig a new hole. "Each plant has their own seed -starting requirements. The beans and squash that we're planting on this patch germinate and grow quickly. It's best to start with a fresh mix of soil, that's why we covered the old soil with new compost first."

"So it's sterile and prevents disease free crops."

Jake nodded at her quick observation with a quirk of the lips. "Correct." Afterwards he grabbed the container with water and began to dampen the earth.

"Now, the key is to moisten not make it sopping wet; crumbly, not floppy."

Cristine was genuinely interested in the steps to correctly plant. Everything she could remember and reuse for future reference. It helped that Jake had been more civil and approachable towards her since the beginning. She could even say they were friends in a way.

"Okay, then what?" Cristine scooped a little closer when Jake opened his palm and pointed at the seeds in his hand.

"Well we have prepacked seeds, so usually the instructions are on the packages, but it depends on the type of seeds to determine how deep you should plant them. These smaller ones can be sprinkled in the ground, but the larger ones that we'll be harvesting today will need to be buried."

"How do you know for sure? I'm not the expert and what if there aren't any instructions?"

Jake chuckled at the tiny scowl on her face and reassured her. "Well you can plant two seeds per cell and if both germinate, just snip one and let the other grow." Jake started to expertly shovel a couple of divots that weren't too far apart from the other.

"Its helpful to make a couple of these to help accommodate the seeds. After you drop them in each divot, just cover them. After that just water them and you're done!"

"How often should you water them? You said not to make the soil too soppy."

"We have a very hot climate, but a good reference is to allow the soil to dry between watering. It won't hurt to water them tomorrow again given the heat."

"Got it." Cristine nodded more to herself to signify that she understood his little gardening lesson 101. A smile graced her features for the first time when she looked at the older man with appreciation.

Jake tested the waters and carefully asked, "what's been keeping you up in a bunch? You don't have to tell me if you don't feel like it, but I just thought you'd want to vent?"

Cristine awkwardly looked away and sighed. "It's weird how everyone is treating me like a human being now that it's beneficial."

"I know this place is far from perfect and there are flaws, but I do believe that it can get better. It has to."

"You use a lot of flowery words to cover up the way most of the people here act. Ya'll are racists and I get that you're all for diplomacy and forgiveness Jake, but you are an enabler too. You look away and let it happen and that's even worse. My father is the same. Despite having me, it doesn't absolve him of anything when he doesn't even take it seriously." Licking her lips, she asked him the burning question, "what if people who look like me and not you seek refuge?"

"...."

"They could bring in something we might not have, maybe really need and it's already been decided that they're not supposed to be here, because of certain criteria? Whatever the hell that's supposed to mean. I'm not saying to welcome every stranger, that's just stupid and naive." Cristine stopped talking and sighed. Why was she getting worked up for? So far, it was safe here and for the first time Cristine was sure that she could see a future on Broke Jaw Ranch.

"Forget it. It's not my call to make."

Jake shook his head, his smile this time was a bit more forced than before. "I get it. I really do. But it's really hard to convince the rest; my father. I'd like for it to change and have everyone open their eyes for the real threat; the dead. But we're also people driven by instinct and self-preservation. I'm just really glad you're looking out for us now."

Frowning deeply at his last sentence, Cristine was about to retort but before she could, Troy arrived and served as an interruption.

"Jake. Cristine," he nodded, his brows furrowing as he stared at the rather close proximity between the two. His brother rose and dusted off his gloves and pants.

"Troy, what's up?" Jake asked as he approached his brother. He didn't miss how his eyes flicked back to him after scrutinizing Cristine before his bored eyes leveled with Jake's.

"Dad's looking for you. Wants to talk to you about the morning service." Troy sounded bored relaying the message.

"Is there a strategy?" There was a tone of surprise in Jake's voice.

"McCarthy and a few are going to outpost Alpha to cover more ground since that's most likely direction we can be attacked from. We're still debating what we're doing with outpost Beta... there are no volunteers so far because of the distance." Troy briefly looked at Cristine, while in mid-conversation, who payed more attention to watering the crops. Jake nodded at his little brother and looked over his shoulder, briefly giving Cristine a few pointers and said his goodbye.

"Gardening huh?" Troy's tone sobered her and she looked in his direction with an arched brow. "It suits you."

"What do you want?" Cristine wasn't in the mood for his games, inwardly seething when Troy knelt at her side.

If Troy had seen the way she clenched the sharp tool, he must've ignored it. Instead he cocked his amazed at her ability to seethe so much. "Come on, no need to be so hostile. It's not healthy to be this annoyed and angry."

"What is it Troy?" Cristine pressed, not wanting to dance around conversation or engage in needles small talk. She lowered the watering can next to her. They were way past the point of talking in riddles and playing these games.

"The guys and I are training the new recruits and we need more hands. We have the most experience and it beats doing this."

"I like doing this, besides I don't want to offend anyone with my presence." She corrected the worn out baseball cap and tensed when he grabbed her wrist. It was too loose to actually stop her from doing anything. But he touched her either way to grab her attention.

"You really need to let that go, it'll get in the way of your focus," Troy advised and barely blinked when she looked at him with thoughtful eyes.

It was Cristine's turn to briefly smile, dimples visible on either side of her cheeks. He recently noticed she had those and it gave her a fresh look, so unlike her usual serious mien, "but it really won't. You see I have this list of people that I want to make their lives a living hell."

"Is my name on this list by any chance?" Troy indulged and mirrored her smile with his cocky smirk and fumbled with the hand shovel. "What's my place?"

"Third, just below Willy and Ben's asshole of a group. But the ranking isn't fixed. It always changes," Cristine mused absently, as if it was the most normal thing to share her hate with the person she wanted to sabotage.

"Huh." Troy tilted his head and thoughtfully looked around the field and surprised her with the next question. "How many other people have you actually killed out there? Aside from your mercy kills and those three?"

"Doesn't matter." Her answer was quick and flat.

"It does," Troy said in all seriousness and the grip around her wrist tightened so Cristine wasn't able to shake it off as easily. Looking into his bright blue, yet glowering eyes, she glared back. "You killed with a reason, because you understand how things work... how people like that work. Not everyone gets that. That's why some are still too afraid to pick up their guns and do what we do every single day."

Cristine parted her lips and piped up, "those are your people."

"You're my people," Troy interjected and tapped his index finger on the vein of her upturned wrist. When he said that, his face was serious and he searched for her eyes.

Cristine laughed incredulously "I'm just a convenient asset you can use. Don't try to flatter me and make it more than it is."

"What's wrong with that? All that matters is protecting the Ranch and killing the invaders." Troy shrugged. He didn't see the people that weren't part of the Ranch as anything, not the ones that didn't deserve this place. Troy would be lying if he said he never labelled Cristine like that. Didn't think she deserved this place at first. But it was different now. Even with all their arguments and the mental games with one another, Troy desperately wanted Cristine to be part of something strong and undefeated. He wanted her to be part of his militia. Not wasting her time gardening with his brother.

"I kept my promise to you. I took my responsibility as a leader and dealt with Willy. Made sure that if he pulls shit like that again, he's dead. And anyone else for that matter." The twitch of hesitance was the right opening for Troy to coax her some more. "Things can only start off on a clean slate if you're good too Cristine." Cristine wanted to wrench her hand out of his grip, but Troy held it firmly and his piercing eyes searched for confirmation. It was hot and the grip on her wrist turned clammy and uncomfortably. "Cristine. Are we good?"

"I'm good." The moment she felt his grip slacken, Cristine quickly pulled her hand back and arched a brow. "So what do you need me to do?"

"I want you to help me recruit the newbies, help me prepare them. For war pastures to come. And those times will come sooner or later." Troy didn't like to beg, but he needed Cristine skills from their last run. The woman was an asset and a fighter Troy rather not lose with just working behind the walls.

Cristine saw that Troy was desperate so she'd use him needing her for her own benefit as well, "fine, but only if I man outpost Beta."

-

Twenty-five.

Cristine counted all the volunteers present on the training area. They were either practicing on the shooting range with either a rifle or bow, under tutelage of Coop, Blake and Willy. Others were taught the basic hand to hand skills with knifes, machetes and other sharp objects by Mike.

Both men and women had signed up. Most of them were her age, some a bit younger or older.

Tapping on the side of her leg, Cristine was just a bit surprised at the organized group. This was all arranged by the hand of Troy.

"I need to thank you by the way." Troy said and stopped next to her to look at the hard workers. A sense of pride welled up inside him and flourished in the form of a smile. "Seeing you got the masses really motivated. This is the largest amount of volunteers we ever had."

"You're welcome," Cristine said as she assessed the people and shifted on her feet. "Most are good with guns. Aside from you and the guys, how many have actually dealt with putting down any dead?"

"Two." Troy sighed and stared straight ahead of them, knowing where she went with her questioning.

After a brief pause, Cristine asked Troy the most important question. "How many have killed people?" She darted her eyes away from the scene and twisted her neck to look at the Militia leader. The faintest pursing of Troy's lips betrayed frustration and already answered her question. Cristine sighed, "no worries, the only thing we can do is prepare them."

"We shouldn't have to. It's pretty obvious what this upcoming battle entails." Troy argued with a shake of the head. He had this same discussion with his brother, Jake who was just a pacifist at heart and always wanted to wait instead of attack. "If that doesn't motivate them, I don't know what will."

"Well, it was me who got hurt." Cristine shrugged as if what happened to her wasn't the worst kind of thing. "Like you said, not everyone felt I was fully part of the community so it might not be as bad as say Gretchen or Hailey was attacked." Not one to sugarcoat the Ranch its initial standpoint, Cristine's sharp observation was spot on. What had happened to her was a tragedy, but the only ones really moved were her father and sister.

Troy tensed and opener his mouth to argue back. "That's not-"

"Those were your words Troy, don't backtrack now." Her brow arched and she patted him on the arm as if to thank him for his good will. "All your effort to make me feel welcome is appreciated and I'm glad to see getting my ass beat got the desired effect. Let's not bullshit ourselves that this.." She gestured between them, then at the recruits and flashed him a pearly smile. It looked odd to see her smile, with her bruised face that had a myriad of dark blue and red hue. "Means that everything is kumbaya and we get each other."

Cristine had left Troy a bit stuped for words and she shook her head at his light naivete. Did he think just because he agreed with her condition in return for help that she'd change and arm up for the farm like some proud patriot She just wanted to make this group pay and use all the resources she needed to do that. Like hell if she wouldn't exploit what the Ranch had to the fullest.

"So what do you want me to do?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Children of Violence has come to an end. I had so much fun writing this second book of my Troy Otto series and focusing on the dynamics of Cristine, her family, Troy and the militia. It was a rollercoaster and a lot has happened but I'm so glad ya'll were with me from beginning to end. 
> 
> No worries the third book: Flesh and Bone will be up soon! I'm really excited about this one since it will cover events from the 3rd season of Fear the Walking Dead and that means the appearance of the family we love to hate.


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